S^CENTURIES   OF 
ENGLISH   POETRY 

FEOM 
TENNYSON  TO  CHAUCER 


BALDWIN 


Y 


SELECT     ENGLISH    CLASSICS 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


Select  lEmilisb  Classics 


SIX    CENTURIES    OF    ENGLISH 

POETRY 


TENNYSON   TO  CHAUCER 


TYPICAL    SELECTIONS   FROM    THE    GREAT 

POETS 


BY 

[AMES    BALDWIN,    Ph.D. 

v  i  hod  o(  "  I  in    Book  Lover  " 

.,  i  re. 


SILVER,   BURDETT  &  COMPANY 

Nl  v.    Vork     .     .     .     B(  >STON      .      •      .     CHII  IGO 

1 892 


X3 


I    '  IPYRIGHT,    1892, 

Bv   SILVER,   BURDETT  &   COMPANY. 


typography  bv  j.  s.  cushing  &  co.,  moston. 
Presswork  bv  Berwick  &  Smith,  Boston. 


PUBLISHERS'    NOTE. 


This  is  the  first  volume  of  a  series  of  Select  English 
CLASSICS  which  the  publishers  have  in  course  of  preparation. 
The  series  will  include  an  extensive  variety  of  selections 
chosen  from  the  different  departments  of  English  literature, 
and  arranged  and  annotated  fur  the  use  of  classes  in  schools. 
It  will  embrace,  among  other  things,  representative  specimens 
from  all  the  best  English  writers,  whether  of  poetry  or  of 
prose  ;  selections  from  English  dramatic  literature,  especially 
of  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries;  choice  extracts 
from  the  writings  of  the  great  essayists;  selections  from 
famous  English  allegories;  a  volume  of  elegies  and  ele'giacal 
try  ;  studies  of  English  prose  fiction,  with  illustrative  spe<  i 
mens,  etc.  Each  volume  will  contain  copious  notes,  critical, 
explanatory,  anil  biographical,  besides  tin-  necessary  vocabu- 
laries, glossaries,  and  indexes \  and  the  scries  when  complete 
will  present  a  varied  and  comprehensive  view  of  all  that  is 
in    English   literature,      for   supplementary    reading,   as 

well  as  for  systematM  class  instruction,  the  hooks  will  possess 
many  peculiarly  valuable  as  well   as  novel    features  ;    while  their 

attractive  appearance,  combined  with  the  sterling  quality  of 
their  content  .  will  commend  them  for  general  reading  and 
make  them  de  irable  acquisitions  for  every  library. 

.i 


TO  TEACHERS  AND  STUDENTS. 


THERE  is  but  one  study  more  interesting  than  the  history  of 
literature,  and  that  is  the  study  of  literature  itself.  That  the  former 
should  often  be  mistaken  for  the  latter  is  scarcely  to  be  wondered  at 
when  we  consider  the  intimate  and  almost  indivisible  relationship 
existing  between  them.  Yet,  in  truth,  they  are  as  capable  of  sepa- 
rate consideration  as  are  music  and  the  history  of  music. 

Any  careful  investigation  of  the  history  of  English  poetry  would 
naturally  begin  at  a  point  of  time  some  six  or  seven  hundred  years 
earlier  than  that  of  Chaucer.  From  such  investigation  we  should 
learn   that  even  as  early  as   the   ninth   century — perhaps,  indeed, 

the   eighth  —  there    were    in    England    some    com- 
ng  o-  axon  posers    of  verse  in   the  Anglo-Saxon   tongue;   that 

the  songs  of  these  poets  were  chiefly  of  religion 
or  of  war,  and  that  being  written  in  a  language  very  different  from 
our  modern  English  they  can  scarcely  be  considered  as  belong- 
ing properly  to  our  literature;  that  among  them,  however,  is  a 
noble  poem,  "  Beowulf,"  the  oldest  epic  of  any  modern  people, 
which  was  probably  sung  or  recited  by  pagan  minstrels  long  before 
it  was  written  down  in  permanent  form  ;  thai,  after  the  conquest 
of  England  by  the  Normans,  the  early  language  of  the  English 
people  underwent  a  long  and  tedious  process  of  transition,  —  a 
blending,  in  a  certain  sense,  with  the  Latinized  and  more  polished 
tongue  of  their  conquerors, — and  that  the  result  was  the  language 
which  we  now  call  English  and  are  proud  to  claim  as  our  own  ;  that 
it  was  about  three  hundred  years  after  the  Norman  Conquest,  namely, 
in  1362,  that  this  new  tongue  was  officially  recognized  and  author- 
ized to  be  used  in  the  courts  at  law  throughout  the  land;  and  that 
about  the  same  time  '  reoffrey  Chaucer  composed  and  wrote  his  first 
poems.     We   should    learn,   moreover,   that,  during    the    transition 

period  mentioned  above,  there  were  many  attempts 
Pen  d raDS1  10D      at   writing   poetry,   resulting   in  the   production   of 

tedious   metrical   romances   (chiefly  translated  from 
the    French)    and    interminable    rhyming    chronicles,    pleasing,    of 
e,   to   the   people   of  that   time,  but  wholly  devoid  of  poetic 
4 


TO    TEACHERS  AND   STUDENTS.  5 

excellence  and  unspeakably  dull  to  modern  readers;  that  these 
poems,  so  called,  were  little  better  than  rhymed  doggerels,  writ- 
ten in  couplets  of  eight-syllabled  lines  and  having  for  their  subjects 
the  miraculous  deeds  of  saints  and  heroes  and  the  occurrence  oi 
supernatural  or  impossible  phenomena;  that  the  composers  of 
these  metrical  romances  and  chronicles,  although  giving  free  rein  to 
the  imagination,  were  utterly  destitute  of  poetic  fancy  and  hence  pro- 
duced no  true  poetry;  that,  nevertheless,  some  writer  was  now  and 
then  inspired  by  a  flash  of  real  poetic  fire,  producing  a  few  lines  of 
remarkable  freshness  and  beauty,  —  little  lyrics  shining  forth  like 
gems  in  the  great  mass  of  verbiage  and  rubbish  and  foretelling  the 
glorious  possibilities  which  were  to  be  realized  in  the  future. 

Continuing  tins  most  interesting  study,  we  should  learn  that  just 
at  the  time  thai  Chaucer  was  beginning  the  composition  of  his 
immortal  works,  there  appeared  an  allegorical  poem  of  considerable 

;i.  so  earnest   in  tone,  so  richly  imaginative, 
so  full  of  picturesque  descriptions,  that  it  seemed  pumEiiman 

rather  a  fulfilment  than  a  prophecy;  that  this 
poem — called  "The  Vision  of  William  concerning  Piers  Plough- 
iii.il)."  and  written  by  an  obscure  monk  whose  name  was  probably 
William  Langland-  was  the  greatesl  poem  and  the  mosl  popular 
tliat  had  ever  been  written  in  England,  and  yet  that  it  failed  in 
many  ways  ol  being  true  English  poetry:  its  metre  was  irregular, 
and  its  rhythm  was  imperfect;  its  verses  instead  of  rhyming  were 
constructed  in  aci  ordani  e  with  certain  rules  of  alliteration  ;  its  sub- 
.  while  interesting,  no  doubt,  to  those  for  whom  it  was  written, 
i  h  as  bring  into  play  the  highest  powers  oi  the  imagina- 
tion   or    ini  ile     the     porti<      I.iik    ,     to     it-,    llolilcst    flights.        Tllrll     We 

should  learn  that  while  the  ink  from  'I  Langland's  pen  was  yel 

i  his  thiol  K\  i  i«in  i,t  •■  piiis  Ploughman,"  <  ieoffrey 

Chaucer  cam<  foi  ward  with  his  sweet  imaginings  bodied  in  immortal 

verse,  his  tuneful  numbers,  his  "  well  ol   English  undefined,"      and 

English  poetry,  which  now   foi   more  than  five  centuries  has  been 

the  i  hief  glory  of  our  literature,  had  its  true  beginning. 

Pursuing  the  study  on  lines  which  would  now  be  more  distinct!} 

marked,  we  should  observi    that  Chaucer's  besl  poetry,  as  well  as 

that  ot  tin-  poets  who  followed  him  in  the  fifteenth  ami  sixteenth 

centuries,  was  distinguished  by  its  truthfulness  to  nature,  by  its 

expression  iii  heart)  and  harmonious  words  ol  the 

i.i  i  ii       ,i       i        i  Three  B<  hoot 

Inn  i     emotions    ol     tin-    soul,    ami     li\     tin-     In  i'  i-iirti 

and  e|. i, ii.  ity  ei  ifii  ation.     We  should  Ii  at  n 

that   in  the  seventeenth   centurj   this  style  oi  poetry      sometimes 

i  ill'  '1  the  romantii  —  v.  1  b)    thei  and  verj  diff< 


6  TO    TEACHERS  AND   STUDENTS. 

fashion  in  poetic  composition,  introduced  into  England  in  imitation 
of  continental  and  classical  models;  that  this  new  style  of  versifica- 
tion—  ignoring  nature  and  making  everything  subservient  to  art  — 
was  purely  artificial,  characterized  by  "an  oratorical  pomp,  a  classical 
correctness,  a  theatrical  dressing,  abundance  of  moralizing" ;  and 
that,  with  Waller  tor  its  sponsor  and  Dryden  and  Pope  for  its  high 
priests,  it  remained  lor  a  century  and  a  half  the  favorite  of  the  liter- 
ary  world,  the  model  of  poetic  diction,  the  standard  of  poetic  taste. 
We  should  learn  that,  towards  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
certain  writers  began  to  perceive  that  although  attention  to  artis- 
tic rules  in  composition  may  be  necessary  to  the  best  poetry,  yet 
natural  feeling,  a  cultivated  imagination,  and  a  fancy  unrestrained 
by  merely  arbitrary  limitations  are  even  more  indispensable;  that 
these  writers,  rebelling  against  the  established  order  of  things, 
taught  that  there  are  elements  of  true  poetry  in  the  popular  ballads 
of  earlier  times,  that  even  the  wearisome  metrical  romances  of  the 
.Middle  Ages  are  rich  in  suggestiveness  and  in  materials  for  a  nobler 
poetrv.  and  that,  instead  of  going  to  the  classics  and  to  society  for 
subjects  and  models,  the  poet  may  find  them  in  nature,  in  the  life 
which  is  about  him,  and  in  a  thousand  sources  never  before  sus- 
pected. Finally,  we  should  learn  that,  at  the  very  time  when  great 
revolutions  in  politics  and  philosophy  were  being  inaugurated,  a  new 
spirit  thus  began  to  manifest  itself  in  our  literature,  —  a  spirit  of 
revolt  against  artificial  restrictions  and  traditional  methods,  —  which 
produced  a  glorious  revival  in  English  poetic  composition  and  ush- 
ered in  a  third  great  school  of  poetry,  distinguished  for  its  breadth 
and  freedom,  as  that  which  it  superseded  had  been  known  for  its  ele- 
gance  and  precision.1 

A  study  of  the  development  of  English  poetry  such  as  we  have 

outlined  above  would   involve  a  knowledge  of  the  history    of  the 

English   people  and   of  the   various    circumstances 

The  History  of  an(|  cvcnts  which  from  time  to  time  influenced  our 
English  Poetry. 

language    and   literature.      It   would   also  embrace 

many  other  topics,  biographical,  philological,  rhetorical,  and  spec- 
ulative, which  have  only  a  secondary  relationship  to  the  central 
idea  of  poetry.  In  fact,  it  would  be  a  study  not  of  poetry,  but 
about  poetry,  —  of  the  circumstances  which  suggested  it,  of  the 
men  who  produced  it,  and  of  the  origin  of  the  word-forms  and 
methods  of  versification  which  distinguish  it.  Such  a  study,  alto- 
gether interesting  and  eminently  profitable  though  it  be,  should  not 
be  undertaken  by  any  student  until  he  has  acquired  an  extensive  per- 

1  Sec  the  quotation  from  Taine,  page  15. 


TO    TEACHERS  AXD   STUDEXTS.  7 

sonal  acquaintance  with  poetry  itself.  We  may  enjoy  the  beautiful 
creations  of  Tennyson,  of  Shelley,  of  Burns,  even  of  Chaucer,  with- 
out knowing  one  word  of  the  history  of  poetry,  without  so  much 
as  knowing  the  names  of  the  writers  or  the  circumstances  under 
which  they  wrote.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  to  him  who  knows 
nothing  of  the  masterpieces  of  our  literature,  save  at  second  hand. 
the  history  of  English  letters  must  of  necessity  be  dull,  uninterest- 
ing, and  often  unintelligible.  While  to  him  who  has  prepared  him- 
self for  its  study  by  fitting  himself  for  an  appreciation  of  these 
noble  creations  and  becoming  thoroughly  imbued  with  their  spirit, 
what  a  held  of  delightful  study  does  it  offer  ! 

The  object  of  the  present  compilation  is  to  aid  in  this  prepara- 
tory work.  —  that  is.  to  offer  a  plan  for  promoting 
the  study  OF  poetry  before  the  broader  but  less  im-         °^ekct  of  this 
portant  study  ABOUT  poetry  is  undertaken.     To  this 
end  we  present    for   the  student's  consideration   a   few  representa- 
tive poems  written  at  different  times  and  by  men  of  widely  dif- 

•    tastes  and   talents   during    the   six   centuries    which    may  be 
said    to  have  elapsed    since   the  formation    of  the  modern   English 

le.     Our  chief  aim   is  to  lead  to  such  a  study  of  these  selec- 
tions as  shall    help  the  reader  to  perceive  and   appreciate  their  true 

tic  qualities  and  enter  into  full  sympathy  with  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  which  their  writers  intended  to  express.  The  fust  object 
to  he  sought  in  the  study  of  these  poems  is  the  perception  of  those 
u  teristii  exi  elleni  es  which  have  made  them  universally  admired 
and  placed  them  among  the  (lassies  of  our  language.  To  accom- 
plish this  object    ration. illy  and  Successfully,  it  is  best  to  begin  with 

those  productions  which  are  nearest  to  us  in  point  of  time  and 
which  aie  more  in  harmony  with  our  own  thoughts,  and  therefore 

^t    to  understand   and   enjoy.     An   attempt   to   pursue  these 
studies  in  ( In. logical  order,  beginning  with  the  works  of  <  lhaucer 

and   the   older   poets,  would  oblige   the  student   to  encounter  at    the 

outset  so  many  purely  mechanical  difficulties  tliat  he  would  fail  to 
disi  era  the  spiritual  qualities  ol  truth,  beauty,  and  goodness,  wh"i<  h 
■ue  tin-  ence  ol  all  genuine  poetry,     tie  would  very  natu- 

rally acquire  a  di  ta  te  foi  poi  m  Ion-  before  he  was  able  to  under- 
l  it,  and  while  lie  might  attain  to  some  considerable  knowledge 
"i  'he  history  ol  poetical  litei.inue.th.it  literature  itself  would  re 
main  to  him  practically  a  sealed  book.     Heme,  in  the  stud)  ol  this 

s'll.je.  t.  a,   in    that    of  other  hr.im  hes,  the  true  method  is  to  present 

first  th.it  which  is  the  least  difficult,  to  "  proceed  from  tin-  known  t,, 

the  unknown."   to  begin  with   that  whi<  h   i,   neai  -it   hand  and  from 


8  TO    TEACHERS  AND   STUDENTS. 

it  to  proceed  to  the  consideration  of  things  more  remote.  Not 
only  are  the  most  of  Tennyson's  poems  easily  understood,  but  their 
beauty  is  readily  apparent  even  to  the  most  superficial  readers.     By 

the  time  we  have  read  and  extracted  all  the  sweets  from  three  or 
tour  of  these,  we  shall  he  prepared  to  go  a  step  farther  and  undertake 
the  study  of  Wordsworth's  immortal  productions,  —  productions  hut 
little  more  difficult  and  hut  little  less  poetic.  Thus,  step  by  step. 
we  may  review  the  six  centuries  of  English  poetry  which  lie  behind, 
and  when  at  last  we  reach  the  time  of  Chaucer  we  shall  he  able  to 
take  hold  of  his  works  with  understanding  and  with 
stud°  S  °  t'u'   /est   un'c'>   's   begotten   of  true  sympathy  and 

appreciation.  After  the  hook  has  been  thus  com- 
pleted, it  may  he  well  to  run  through  it  again,  reversing  the  order 
of  the  lessons  and  this  time  considering  the  subjects  in  strict  chron- 
ological order.  Our  fust  study  of  the  hook  will  have  introduced  us 
to  English  poetry,  our  second  study  of  it  will  have  given  us  some 
insight  into  the  history  of  its  development. 

It  is  well  to  remember,  while  pursuing  this  course,  that  a  taste  for 
try  is  not  acquired  or  fostered  by  an  analysis  of  grammatical 
forms  or  by  any  study  of  words  merely  as  such.  To  analyze  a  puz- 
zling sentence  or  to  trace  the  derivation  of  an  interesting  word  to 
its  roots  sometimes  helps  one  to  understand  a  difficult  expression  or 
to  perceive  in  it  a  meaning  hitherto  unsuspected;  but  to  make  the 
stud}-  of  any  selection  consist  largely  of  exercises  of  this  kind  is  to 
substitute  grammar  or  philology  tor  literature.  So.  also,  should  it  he 
home  in  mind  that  while  it  is  often  interesting  and  sometimes  neces- 
sary to  become  acquainted  with  certain  details  relative  to  the  life  of 
an  author  —  the  date  ol  his  birth,  the  character  of  his  education,  the 
influences  which  shaped  his  life  and  his  work  —  yet  such  knowledge 
belongs  to  biography  and  is  in  no  sense  literature.  The  studs  oi 
authors  should  never  he  substituted  for  the  study  of  their  works, 
and  is  usually  profitable  only  so  far  as  it  helps  the  student  to  under- 
stand the  peculiarities  whi<  h  distinguish  those  works  and  which  are 
the  result  of  certain  pi  i  ;onal  characteristics.  And  yet  it  is  no  un- 
common thing  to  find  students  acquainted  with  the  minutest  partic- 
ulars in  the  lives  ol  the  greal  writers,  while  of  the  masterpieces  of 
thought  and  expression,  width  are  the  glory  of  our  literature,  they 
Jorable  ignorance.  Nor  is  this  the  case  with  pupils  at 
school  alone,  ••hoi  once  that  we  take  down  a  Milton,  and  read  a 
book  of  that  'voice,1  a-  Wordsworth  says,  'whose  sound  is  like  the 
take  up  fifty  times  a  magazine  with  something  aboul  Milton, 
or  about  Milton's  grandmother,  or  a  book  stuffed  with  curious  facts 


TO    TEACHERS  AXD   STUDENTS.  9 

about  the  houses  in  which  he  lived,  and  the  juvenile  ailments  of  his 
rir-t  wife.11  ' 

In  the  study  of  the  selections  contained  in  this  volume,  the  fol- 
lowing method  is  recommended:  — 

i.  The  piece  should  he  thoroughly  committed  to 
memory.  Practicf 

Suggestions. 

2.  It  should  Ik-  recited  or  read  by  each  member 

ot  tin-  i  l  iss  in  such  manner  as  to  bring  out.  if  possible,  his  under- 
standing of  the  meaning  of  every  passage. 

3.  Study  the  poem  as  a  whole,  and  let  each  pupil  point  out  the 
beauties  of  thought  or  expression  which  distinguish  it  as  a  poetical 
composition. 

4.  Now  study  each  stanza,  or  each  independent  thought,  in  its 
order,  and  endeavor  to  understand  each  word  or  expression  just  as 
the  poet  intended  that  it  should  be  understood.  The  Notes  ap- 
pended to  most  of  the  selections  are  intended  rather  to  suggest  the 
line  ol  9tudy  in  this  regard  than  to  serve  as  exhaustive  aids.  The 
pupil  should,  so  far  as  possible,  investigate  for  himself  and  make  his 
own  discoveries.  Questions  concerning  the  derivation  of  words  and 
the  syntav  of  sentences  are  to  be  discussed  only  so  far  as  they  will 
aid  in  the  understanding  of  some  passage  or  ot"  the  piece  as  a  whole. 

5.  I. earn  some  of  the  most  important  facts  connected  with  the 
author's  life.      What    were  the  conditions  under  which  he  wrote  this 

piece?  What  was  the  character  of  his  education  and  of  the  other 
influences  which  shaped  his  life  and  distinguished  his  works? 
Learn  what  s t  the  leading  critics  have  said  concerning  his 

works  as  a  pi 

6.  Finally,  read  the  poem  again,  as  a  whole,  and  discuss  its  qual- 

1  work  of  literary  art,  and  again  poinl  out  its  distinctive 
and  '  harai  teristh  excellent  1 
The  extracts  given  at  the  beginning  of  each  Century  will  serve 
to  keep  in  mind  the  leading  peculiarities  which  distinguished  the 

poetr)   'it    each   period:    and    the    lists   of  ports  anil    their  works  will 

tunc!  valuable  for  purposes  oi  reference.  Before  beginning 
the  stud)  ol  the  1  li  1  tions  both  tea<  h<  1  and  pupils  should  read  this 
Introduction  1  an  fully. 

1  Frederii   Harrison:   On  the  Choice  of  Books. 


CONTENTS. 


PRINCIPAL    DIVISIONS. 


Introduction 
The  Nineteenth  Century 
The  Eighteenth  Century 
The  Seventeenth  Century 
The  Sixteenth  Century 
TheTifteenth  Century 
The  Fourteenth  Century 
Index        .... 


PAGE 
5 

'5 

95 

•57 

2I5 
267 

285 
303 


POEMS. 

By  Alfred  Tennyson  :  — 

The  Lady  of  Shalott 17 

The  Brook 25 

The  Lotus  Eaters 28 

By  William  Wordsworth:  — 

Intimations  of  Immortality  from   Recollections  of  Early  Child- 
hood  ...........       37 

The  Two  April  Mornings    ........       49 

The  Solitary  Reaper    .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  51 

By  s.  T.  Coleridge:  — 

•  hristabel.     1'art  1 55 

By  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley:  — 

To  a  Skylark       ..........  67 

1 1 ,  urn  of  Pan      ..........  71 

From  Epipsychidion   .........  74 

10 


CONTENTS. 


11 


Bv  John  Keats:  — 

Ode  to  a  Nightingale 
From  The  Eve  uf  St.  Agnes 

By  Robert  Burns:  — 

The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night 
To  a  Mountain  Daisy 
For  a'  that  and  a'  that 

By  William  Cowper:  — 

Boadicca    ...... 

<  >n  the  Receipt  of  my  Mother's  Picture 
Epitaph  on  a  Hare      .... 

By  i  >u\  ik  ( ;.  ii.ns.Mnn  :  — 

The  Village  Parson  .... 
The  Village  Schoolmaster  . 

By  Thomas  <  Iray  :  — 

The  Bard 

I;-,    Al  l  X  INDEB    POPE:  — 

If. mi  the  Essay  on  Criticism 

(  i.|r  ..ii  st.  <  <-.  ilia's  Day     . 

By  J>>hn   DRYDEN  :  — 

Alexander's  Feast  .... 
'I  be  Fire  of  1  ondon  .... 
Reason  anil  Religion  .... 

r. .  foHH  Milton:  — 

•  in  the  Morning  of  Christ's  Nativity   . 

Wordsworth'i  Sonnet  t.>  Milton 
I'.,    ROBl  i  i    I  [ERRICK  :  — 

To  Phillis 

I  he   Mad    Maid's  Song 

A  I  hanksgh  ing  to  God 

i        I  DMUND    WAI  I  ll:  :  — 

Si  .ng :  Go,  lovely  Rose 

Of  English  Verse       .... 

'  »n  a  <  iirdle 

I'.-,    Bl  ••    1  o        ■ :  — 

An  <  ide  to  Himself    .... 

To  '  ynthia  ..... 

I  •  the  Memory  of  William  Shal  •  speare 
I  leri  ick's  Odi   fi  •!  Ben  [onson 


83 

87 

97 
107 

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113 

115 
120 

124 
125 

129 

141 

'47 

'59 
169 

'74 

'77 
196 

'97 
199 
200 

203 

■'"l 
205 

>io 

•1  | 


12 


<■.  >.V/A.\  A.v 


By  William  Shakespeare:  — 

\  enus's  Advice  to  Adonis  on  Hunting 
A  Morning  Song  fur  Imogen 
Sigh  no  more,  Ladies 

Sunshine  and  ('loud  (Sonnet  xxxiii.)  . 
The  World's  Way  (Sonnet  lwi.) 

By  Edmund  Spenser:  — 
The  <  'ave  of  Mammon 
Prothalamion ;   or,  a  Spousall  Verse    . 

By  Thomas  Wyatt:  — 

A  Love  Song 

The  Courtier's  Life     .... 
By  the  Earl  of  Surrey:  — 

From  Virgil's  /Eneid  .... 

Sonnet:  Geraldine      .... 

<  >n  the  Death  of  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt    . 

Ballads : — 

Waly,  waly  ..... 

Sir  Patrick  Spens        .... 
The  Bailiffs  Daughter  of  Islington 
Robin  Hood  and  the  Widow's  three  Sons 

By  John  Skelton  :  — 

To  May  stress  Margaret  Hussey  . 
Cardinal  Wolsey  .... 

By  John  Lydgate:  — 

A  Visit  to  London      .... 

Tlu-  ( iolden  Age         .... 
!,',    R(  (BER1    Henryson  :  — 

The  Garmond  of  Fair  Ladies     . 

By  Willi  \m  Dunbar:  — 

A  May  Morning  .... 

B\    '  iAWAIN    I  >01  RLAS:  — 

In  1'raisi-  of  I  lonour   .... 

By  Geoi  frey  <  !haucer  :  — 

From  tin-  Prologue  t"  the  Canterbury  Tales 


FACE 
2I7 
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287 


SIX    CENTURIES    OF    ENGLISH 
POETRY. 


JTfje  Nineteenth  Crnturu. 


o-JKoo- 


••  Now  appeared  the  English  romantic  school,  a  sect  of  '■dissenters 
in  pact/  v,'  who  spoke  out  aloud,  kept  themselves  close  together,  and 
repelled  settled  minds  by  the  audacity  and  novelty  of  their  theories. 
They  had  violently  broken  with  tradition,  and  leaped  over  all  clas- 
tical  culture,  to  take  their  models  from  the  Renaissance  and  the 
middle-age.  They  sought,  in  the  old  national  ballads  and  ancient 
poetry  of  foreign  lands,  the  fresh  and  primitive  accent  which  had 
been  wanting  in  classical  literature,  and  whose  presence  seemed  to 
them  to  be  a  tign  of  truth  and  beauty.  They  proposed  to  adapt 
t<>  poetry  the  ordinary  language  of  conversation,  such  as  is  spoken 
in  the  middle  and  lower  classes,  ami  to  replace  studied  phrases  and 
a  lofty  vocabulary  by  natural  tones  and  plebeian  words.  In  place 
of  the  classii  mould,  they  tried  stanzas,  sonnets,  ballads,  blank  verse, 
with  the  roughness  and  subdivisions  of  the  primitive  poets.  .  .  . 
Some  had  culled  gigantu  legends,  piled  up  dreams,  ransacked 
the  East,  Greece,  Arabia,  the  Mid, tie  Ages,  and  overloaded  the 
human  imagination  with  hues  and  fan,  ies  / 1  om  every  ,  lime.    <  >thc>  i 

hail  Inn  ted  thrms,  Ires    in    metaphysics    and  moral  philosophy,   had 

mused  indefatigably  on  the  condition  of  man,  and  spent  then  lives 

on  the  sublime  and  the   monotonous.      Others,  making  a  medley  Oj 
Crime  and  heroism,   had  conducted,    through   darkness  and  //ashes 

htning,  a  train  of  contorted  and  terrible  figures,  desperate  with 
i  by  their  grandeur.    Men  wanted  to  rest  aftet  to 

many  efforts  an, I  so  ninth  tUCCesS.     (hi  the  going  out  of  the  iiuurinn- 
•  iitimental,  and  Sa/ani,    tchool,    TettttysOH   appeared  e\,/uis/te. 

All  the  forms  and  ideas  which  had  pleased  them  were  found  in  him, 

but  purified,  modulated,  set  in  a   splendid   style,      lie  completed  an 
aqr."  —  Tum 

'5 


Poets  of  tjje  Xtnrtrcntlj  (JTcutuiu. 

William  Wordsworth  (1770-1S50).     Sec  biographical  note,  page  52. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  ( 1 771-1832).  "The  Layol  the  Last  Minstrel";  "The 
Lady  of  the  Lake";  "  Marmion";  "The  Lord  of  the  Isles";  short  poems. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  (1772-1834).    See  biographical  note,  page  65. 

Robert  Southey  (1774-1; 843).  "Thalaba";  "  Roderick,  the  last  of  the 
Goths";  "|oan  of  Are";  "Madoc";  "The  Curse  of  Kehaina"; 
numerous  short  poems. 

Charles  Lamb  (1775-1834).     Chiefly  short  poems. 

Walter  Savage  Landor  (1775-1864).     "Gebir";   and  other  poems. 

Thomas  Campbell  ( 1 777-1844).  "Gertrude  of  Wyoming";  "The  Pleas- 
ures of  I  [ope  ";    short  poems. 

Thomas  Moore  (1779-1852).  "Irish  Melodies";  "Lalla  Rookh"; 
"Rhymes  on  the   Road";  "The   Loves  of  the  Angels,"  etc. 

Leigh  Hunt  (1784-1859).  "Francesca  Rimini";  "A  Legend  of  Flor- 
ence";   "Stories  in  Wise,"  etc. 

Bryan  Waller  Procter  ("Larry  Cornwall")  (1787-1874).  "A  Sicilian 
Story";    "  English  Songs,"  etc. 

Lord  Byron  (George  Gordon  Noel)  (1788-1824).  "Childe  Harold"; 
"The  Giaour";  "Bride  of  Abydos";  "The  Corsair";  "Lara"; 
"Hebrew  Melodies";  "Siege  of  Corinth";  "Parisina";  ".Manfred"; 
"  Don  Juan,"  etc. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  (1 792-1822).     See  biographical  note,  page  81. 

John  Keats  (1795-1821).     See  biographical  note,  page  93. 

Thomas  Hood  (1799-1845).     Numerous  short  poems,  chiefly  humorous. 

Lord  Macaulay  (  [800-1859).     "  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome." 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  (1809-1861).  "Prometheus  Bound"; 
"CasaGuidi  Windows";  "Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese";  "Aurora 
Leigh";   "  Poems  before  Congress  " ;    "Last   Poems." 

Alfred  Tennyson  (Lord  Tennyson)  (1809-        ).    See  biographical  note, 

page  35. 

Richard  Monckton  Milnes  (  Lord  Houghton)  (1809-1885).     "Historical 

Poems";  "  Poetry  for  the  People";   "  Poems  of  Many  Years." 
Robert    Browning   (1812-1889).      "Christmas    Eve   and    Paster    Day"; 

"Men   and   Women"';    "The    Ring   and    the    Book";    " Balaustion's 

Adventure";   "  Piimc  at  the  Fair";   "Aristophanes'  Apology,"  etc. 
William  Edmondstoune  Aytoun  (1813-1865).     "Lays  of  the  Scottish 

Cavaliers";   "Ballads  of  Scotland,"  etc. 
Arthur  Hugh  Clough  (1819-1861).     "The  Bothie";   "  Ambarvalia,"  etc. 
Charles  Kingsley  (1819-1875).     "Andromeda";   many  short  poems. 
Matthew    Arnold    (1822-1889).      "The    Strayed    Reveller    and    other 

Poems";    "Balder." 
Adelaide  Anne  Procter  (1825-1864).    "Legends  and  Lyrics";  "AChap- 

let  of  Verses." 
Robert  Bulwer-Lytton   ("Owen  Meredith")  (1831-1892).     "Lucile"; 

"  Marah,"  etc. 

16 


aifrcb  Gcnn\>son. 

THE    LADY   OF    SHALOTT. 

PART    I. 

)\  cither  side  the  river  lie 
Long  fields  of  barley  and  of  rye, 
That  clothe  the  wold1  and  meet  the  sky  : 
And  through  the  fields  the  road  runs  by 

To  many-towered  Camelot2; 
And  up  and  down  the  people  go, 
Gazing  where  the  lilies  blow 
Round  an  island  there  below, 
The  island  oi  Shalott. 

Willows  whiten,  aspens  quiver, 
Little  breezes  dusk8  and  shiver 
Through  the  wave  thai  runs  forever 
By  the  island  in  the  river 

Flowing  down  to  ( lamelot ; 
Four  gray  walls,  and  tour  gray  towers, 
( )verlook  a  spai  e  oi  flowers, 
And  the  silent  isle  imbowers 

The  I  »ady  ol  Shalott. 

By  the  margin,  willow-veiled, 
Slide  the  heavy  bai  ges,  trailed ' 

>7 


IS  ALFRED    TENNYSON. 

By  slow  horses  ;  and  unhailed 

The  shallop  Mitteth  silken-sailed, 
Skimming  down  to  Camelot : 

But  who  hath  seen  her  wave  her  hand  ? 

Or  at  the  casement  seen  her  stand  ? 

Or  is  she  known  in  all  the  land, 
The  lady  of  Shalott  ? 

Only  reapers,  reaping  early 
In  among  the  bearded  barley, 
Hear  a  song  that  echoes  cheerly 
From  the  river  winding  clearly, 

Down  to  towered  Camelot : 
And  by  the  moon  the  reaper  weary, 
Piling  sheaves  in  uplands  airy, 
Listening,  whispers,  "  'Tis  the  fairy 

Lady  of  Shalott." 


PART    Ii. 

There  she  weaves  by  night  and  day 
A  magic  web  5  with  colors  gay. 
She  has  heard  a  whisper  say, 
A  curse  is  on  her  if  she  stay 

To  look  down  to  Camelot. 
She  knows  not  what  the  curse  may  be, 
And  so  she  weaveth  steadily, 
And  little  other  care  hath  she, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

And  moving  through  a  mirror  clear 
That  hangs  before  her  all  the  year, 
Shadows  of  the  world  appear. 


THE  LADY  OF  SHALOTT.  19 

There  she  sees  the  highway  near 

Winding  down  to  Camelot : 
There  the  river-eddy  whirls, 
And  there  the  surly  village-churls, 
And  the  red  cloaks  of  market  girls 

Pass  onward  from  Shalott. 

Sometimes  a  troop  of  damsels  glad, 
An  abbott  on  an  ambling  pad,6 
Sometimes  a  curly  shepherd-lad 
Or  long-haired  page  in  crimson  clad, 

Goes  by  to  towered  Camelot  ; 
And  sometimes  through  the  mirror  blue, 
The  knights  come  riding  two  and  two: 
She  hath  no  loyal  knight  and  true, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

But  in  her  web  she  still  delights 
To  weave  the  mirrored  magic  sights, 
For  often  through  the  silent  nights 
A  funeral,  with  plumes  and  lights, 

And  music,  went  to  Camelot  ; 
( )r,  when  the  moon  was  overhead, 
Came  two  young  lovers  lately  wed. 
"  I  am  half-sick  of  shadows,"  said 

The  Lady  of  Shalott.7 

PART    in. 

A  bowshot  from  her  bower-eaves, 
He  rode  bel  ween  t  he  bai  ley  shea\ 

The  sun  c« •  dazzling  through  the  leaves, 

And  flamed  upon  the  brazen  greaves 
<  M  hold  Sir  Lancelot. 


20  ALFRED    TENNYSON. 


A  red-cross8  knight  forever  kneeled 
To  a  lady  in  his  shield 
That  sparkled  on  the  yellow  field, 
Beside  remote  Shalott. 

The  gemmy  bridle  glittered  free, 
Like  to  some  branch  of  stars  we  see 
Hung  in  the  golden  Galaxy.9 
The  bridle-bells  rang  merrily 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot : 
And  from  his  blazoned  baldric 10  slung 
A  mighty  silver  bugle  hung, 
And  as  he  rode  his  armor  rung, 

Beside  remote  Shalott. 

All  in  the  blue  unclouded  weather 
Thick-jewelled  shone  the  saddle-leather, 
The  helmet  and  the  helmet-feather 
Burned  like  one  burning  flame  together, 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot. 
As  often  through  the  purple  night, 
Below  the  starry  clusters  bright, 
Some  bearded  meteor,11  trailing  light, 

Moves  over  still  Shalott. 

His  broad  clear  brow  in  sunlight  glowed; 
On  burnished  hooves  his  war-horse  trode ; 
From  underneath  his  helmet  flowed 
His  coal-black  curls  as  on  he  rode, 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot. 
From  the  bank  and  from  the  river 
He  flashed  12  into  the  crystal  mirror, 
"Tirra  lirra,"  by  the  river13 

Sang  Sir  Lancelot. 


THE   LADY  OF  SHALOTT.  21 

She  left  the  web,  she  left  the  loom, 
She  made  three  paces  through  the  room, 
She  saw  the  water-lily  bloom, 
She  saw  the  helmet  and  the  plume, 

She  looked  clown  to  Camelot. 
Out  flew  the  web  and  floated  wide ; 
The  mirror  cracked  from  side  to  side ; 
"The  curse  is  come  upon  me,"  cried 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

PART    IV. 

In  the  stormy  cast-wind  straining, 
The  pale  yellow  woods  were  waning, 
The  broad  stream  in  his  banks  complaining, 
Heavily  the  low  sky  raining 

(  )vcr  towered  Camelot  ; 
Down  she  came  and  found  a  boat 
Beneath  a  willow  left  afloat, 
And  round  about  the  prow  she  wrote, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

And  down  the  river's  dim  expanse  — 
Like  some  hold  seer  in  a  trance, 
Seeing  all  his  own  mischance  — 
With  a  glassy  countenance 

Did  she  look  to  Camelot. 
And  at  the  ( losing  of  the  day 
She  loosed  the  l  hain,  and  down  she  lay  ; 

The  broad  si  ream  bore  her  far  away. 

The   Lad)'  of   Shalott. 

Lying,  robed  in  snowy  white 

That  loosely  flew  to  left  and  right  — 


22  ALFRED    TENNYSON. 

The  leaves  upon  her  falling  light  — 
Through  the  noises  of  the  night 

She  floated  down  to  Camelot : 
And  as  the  boat-head  wound  along 
The  willowy  hills  and  fields  among, 
They  heard  her  singing  her  last  song, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Heard  a  carol,  mournful,  holy, 
Chanted  loudly,  chanted  lowly, 
Till  her  blood  was  frozen  slowly, 
And  her  eyes  were  darkened  wholly, 

Turned  to  towered  Camelot ; 
For  ere  she  reached  upon  the  tide 
The  first  house  by  the  water-side, 
Singing  in  her  song  she  died, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Under  tower  and  balcony, 
By  garden-wall  and  gallery, 
A  gleaming  shape  she  floated  by, 
A  corse  between  the  houses  high, 

Silent  into  Camelot. 
Out  upon  the  wharfs  they  came, 
Knight  and  burgher,  lord  and  dame, 
And  round  the  prow  they  read  her  name, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Who  is  this  ?  and  what  is  here  ? 
And  in  the  lighted  palace  near 
Died  the  sound  of  royal  cheer ; 
And  they  crossed  themselves  for  fear, 
All  the  knights  at  Camelot ; 


THE   LADY   OF  SHALOTT.  23 


But  Lancelot  mused  a  little  space ; 
He  said,  "  She  has  a  lovely  face ; 
God  in  his  mercy  lend  her  grace, 
The  Lady  of  Shalott." 


NOTES. 


This  poem  was  written  in  1832.  Considered  as  a  picture,  or  as  a  series 
of  pictures,  its  beauty  is  unsurpassed.  The  story  which  is  here  so  briefly 
told  is  founded  upon  a  touching  legend  connected  with  the  romance  of 
King  Arthur  and  his  Knights  of  the  Round  Table.  Tennyson  afterwards 
(in  1859)  expanded  it  into  the  Idyll  called  "  Elaine,"  wherein  he  followed 
more  closely  the  original  narrative  as  related  by  Sir  Thomas  Malory. 

Sir  Lancelot  was  the  strongest  and  bravest  of  the  Knights  of  the  Round 
Table,  and  for  him  Elaine,  "  the  fair  maid  of  Astolat,"  conceived  a  hopelt  ss 

n.     "Her  love  was  platonic  and  pure  as  that  of  a  child,  but  it  was 

rful  in  its  strength.''  Having  learned  that  Lancelot  was  pledged  to 
celibacy,  she  pined  away  and  died.  I'.ut  before  her  death  she  called  her 
brother,  and  having  dictated  a  letter  which  he  was  to  write,  she  spake  thus: 
"'While  my  body  is  whole,  let  this  letter  be  put  into  my  right  hand, 
and  my  hand  bound  fast  with  the  letter  until  1  be  cold,  and  let  me  be  put 
in  a  fair  bed  with  all  my  richest  clothes  that  I  have  about  me,  and  so  let 
my  bed  and  all  my  rich  clothes  lie  laid  with  me  in  a  chariot  to  the  next 
place  the    lli a  md  there  let  me  In-  put  in  a  barge,  ami  but 

on.-  man  with    me,  such  as  ye  trust  to  steer  me  thither,  and   that   my   barge 

vercd  with  black  ivei  and  over.'   ...     So  when  she  was  dead, 

the  corpse  and  the  bed  and  all  was  led  the  m  \t  way  unto  the  Thames,  and 

all  were  put  in  a  barjM-  on  the  I  bames,  and  so  the  man  steered  the 
barge  to  Westminster,  and  there  be  rowed  a  great  while  to  and  fro,  or  any 
man  espied."*      At  length  the  King  and  his  Knights,  coming  down  to  the 

ride,  and  seeing  the  boat  and  the  lily  maid  oi  Astolat,  they  uplifted 

the  bapll  I   I  laine,  and  bore  it  to  the  hall. 

"  I'.ut  A r 1 1 1 1 1  r  spied  the  letter  in  hei  hand, 

;.t.  took,  braU'  I  read  it .  tin    was  all : 

'  Most  noble  Lord,  sir  Lam  1  01  "t  the  Lake, 
I      >m<  limi  ■  tiled  tie-  maid  ol  Vstolat, 
<  ■  .no-,  lor  you  lefl  me  takn  veil, 

Hither,  to  take  my  last  farewell  ol  you. 

*  M  ii  t-,      King  Arthur,  I'm  I II 


24  ALFRED    TENNYSON. 

I  loved  you,  and  my  love  had  no  return, 

And  therefore  my  true  love  has  been  my  death.  .  .  . 

Pray  for  my  soul  and  yield  me  burial. 

Pray  for  my  soul  thou  too  Sir  Lancelot, 

As  thou  art  a  knight  peerless.'  "  * 

And  so  the  maid  was  buried,  "  not  as  one  unknown,  nor  meanly,  but 
with  gorgeous  obsequies,  and  mass  and  rolling  music,  like  a  queen.  And 
the  story  of  her  dolorous  voyage  was  blazoned  on  her  tomb  in  letters  gold 
and  azure." 

i.  wold.  An  open  tract  of  hilly  country,  where  but  few  trees  are  left. 
This  word  is  more  frequently  used,  however,  to  designate  a  forest  or  thick 
wood. 

2.  Camelot.  It  is  supposed  that  this  Camelot  was  Winchester.  It  was 
the  seat  of  King  Arthur's  court,  and  visitors  are  still  shown  the  remains  of 
what  appear  to  have  been  certain  kinds  of  intrenchments,  which  the  inhabi- 
tants call  "  King  Arthur's  Palace."  Sir  Thomas  Malory  says :  "  Sir  Ballin's 
sword  was  put  into  marble  stone,  standing  it  upright  as  a  great  millstone, 
and  it  swam  down  the  stream  to  the  city  of  Camelot,  that  is,  in  English, 
Wincheste."  There  was  another  Camelot,  also  King  Arthur's  capital,  on 
the  river  Camel,  in  Cornwall,  to  which  Shakespeare  makes  reference  in 
King  Lear,  II,  ii.  Tennyson,  in  "  Careth  and  Lynette,"  describes  the 
appearance  of  the  city  when  approached  in  the  early  morning: 

"  Far  off  they  saw  the  silver-misty  morn 
Rolling  her  smoke  about  the  Royal  mount, 
That  rose  between  the  forest  and  the  field. 
At  times  the  summit  of  the  high  city  fiash'd; 
At  times  the  spires  and  turrets  half-way  down 
Prick'd  thro'  the  mist;  at  times  the  great  gate  shone 
Only,  that  open'd  on  the  field  below : 
Anon,  the  whole  fair  city  had  disappear'd." 

3.  dusk-  Produce  a  ruffled  surface.  A  very  rare  use  of  this  word. 
The  river  referred  to  is  probably  the  Thames. 

4.  trailed.  Lat.  traho,  to  draw;  Dutch  treilen,  to  tow.  What  pic- 
ture is  presented  to  the  imagination  in  the  first  five  lines  of  this  stanza? 
How  do  the  barges  differ  in  appearance  and  movement  from  the  shallop 
mentioned  two  lines  below? 

5.  web.     Anything  woven.       stay.     Stop. 

6.  pad.  An  easy-going  saddle-horse;  a  palfrey.  Describe  the  picture 
which  is  presented  in  this  stan/.a. 

7.  Explain  the  meaning  of  the  Lady's  exclamation. 

*  Tennyson's  Elaine. 


THE  BROOK.  25 

8.  red-cross  knight.  A  Knight  wearing  a  red  cross.  One  of  King 
Arthur's  Knights.  The  red-cross  Knight  in  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene  sym- 
bolizes holiness. 

"  And  on  his  brest  a  bloodie  crosse  he  bore, 
The  deare  remembrance  of  his  dying  Lord, 
For  whose  sweete  sake  that  glorious  badge  he  wore, 
And  dead,  as  living  ever,  him  ador'd ; 
Upon  his  shield  the  like  was  also  scor'd, 
For  soveraine  hope,  which  in  his  helpe  he  had. 
Right,  faithfull,  true  he  was  in  deede  and  word; 
But  of  his  cheere  did  seeme  too  solemne  sad ; 
Yet  nothing  did  he  dread,  but  ever  was  ydrad." 

9.  Galaxy.     The  milky-way.     Gr.  gala,  galaktos,  milk. 

10.  baldric.     A  belt  thrown  over  the  shoulder.     From  Lat.  balteus. 

11.  bearded  meteor.  A  shooting-star  emitting  rays  of  light  in  the 
direction  in  which  it  moves.  The  beard  of  a  comet  is  the  light  which  it 
throws  out  in  front  of  it,  in  distinction  from  the  tail  or  rays  behind. 

\2.   He  flashed.     His  image  was  thrown  upon  and  reflected  from. 
13.   "Tirra  lirra."     French  tire  tire.     Probably  intended  to  imitate 
the  note  of  the  lark. 

oo}<*>o 


Till-;    BROOK. 

I  1  <>Mi    from  haunts  of  coot1  and  hern,2 

I  make  a  sudden  sally, 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 

To  bicker8  down  a  valley. 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down, 

Or  slip  between  the  ridges, 
By  twenty  thorps/  a  little  town, 

And  hall  a  hundred  bridges. 

Till  last  by  Philip's  farm  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  rh  1 

For  men  may  Come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  foi  evei 


26  ALFRED    TENNYSON. 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 
In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 

I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 
I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 
By  many  a  field  and  fallow, 

And  many  a  fairy  foreland  5  set 
With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out, 
With  here  a  blossom  sailing, 

And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling, 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 

Upon  me,  as  I  travel, 
Writh  many  a  silvery  waterbreak 

Above  the  golden  gravel, 

And  draw  them  all  along,  and  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 
I  slide  by  hazel 6  covers  ; 

I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 
That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 


THE   BROOK.  27 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,7  I  glance, 
Among  my  skimming  swallows ; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeams  dance 
Against  my  shady  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildernesses ; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly8  bars  ; 

I  loiter  round  my  cresses; 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  forever. 


NOTES. 


This  little  lyric  forms  a  part  of  "  an  idyl  "  of  the  same  title,  published  in 
1.S55.      The  poet  introduces  it  in  the  following  manner: 

"  Here,  by  this  brook,  we  parted  ,  I  to  the  East 
And  be  to  Italy  —  too  late  —  too  late: 

Yel  the  brook  he  loved 

(en  i"  it, 

Prattling  the  primrose  fai 1  the  boy, 

1   1  me  that  loved  him ;  for.'Ob k,' he  says, 

'O  babbling  brook,'  saj  1  Edmund  in  his  rhyme, 
'  Whence  come  you?'  and  the  brook,  why  not ?  replies: 
■  I  come  from  baunts  ol  >  001  and  hero,'  "  etc. 

In  reading  this  poem, observe  how  strikingly  the  sound  is  made  to  cor- 
>nd  to  the  sense. 

1.  coot.     A  wild  wat'  r-fowl,  rest  mbling  the  du<  k. 

2.  hern.     Heron.  \-   bicker.     To  move  unsteadily. 

4.  thorps.     Small  villages.     A.  S  thorpe.     From  Ger.  trupp,  a  troop. 

5.  foreland.     A  promontory.  6.    hazel  covers.     Hazel  thickets. 

7.  gloom.     Glimmer,  shine  obscurely. 

8.  shingly.     Gravelly. 


2S  ALFRED    TENNYSON. 


THE    LOTOS-EATERS. 

"  Courage  !  "  he  said,  and  pointed  toward  the  land  ; 
"This  mounting  wave  will  roll  us  shoreward  soon." 
In  the  afternoon  they  came  unto  a  land, 
In  which  it  seemed  always  afternoon. 
All  round  the  coast  the  languid  air  did  swoon, 
Breathing  like  one  that  hath  a  weary  dream. 
Full-faced  above  the  valley  stood  the  moon  ; 
And  like  a  downward  smoke,  the  slender  stream 
Along  the  cliff  to  fall  and  pause  and  fall  did  seem. 

A  land  of  streams !  some,  like  a  downward  smoke, 

Slow-dropping  veils  of  thinnest  lawn,  did  go  ; 

And  some  through  wavering  lights  and  shadows  broke 

Rolling  a  slumbrous  sheet  of  foam  below. 

They  saw  the  gleaming  river  seaward  flow 

From  the  inner  land :  far  off,  three  mountain-tops, 

Three  silent  pinnacles  of  aged  snow, 

Stood  sunset-flushed  :  and,  dewed  with  showery  drops, 

Up-clomb  the  shadowy  pine  above  the  woven  copse. 

The  charmed  sunset  lingered  low  adown 

In  the  red  West :  through  mountain  clefts  the  dale 

Was  seen  far  inland,  and  the  yellow  down 

Bordered  with  palm,  and  many  a  winding  vale 

And  meadow,  set  with  slender  galingale  ; 

A  land  where  all  things  always  seemed  the  same  ! 

And  round  about  the  keel  with  faces  pale, 

Dark  faces  pale  against  that  rosy  flame, 

The  mild-eyed  melancholy  Lotos-eaters  came. 


THE  LOTOS-EATERS.  29 

Branches  they  bore  of  that  enchanted  stem, 
Laden  with  flower  and  fruit,  whereof  they  gave 
To  each,  but  whoso  did  receive  of  them, 
And  taste,  to  him  the  gushing  of  the  wave 
Far,  far  away  did  seem  to  mourn  and  rave 
( >n  alien  shores  ;  and  if  his  fellow  spake, 
His  voice  was  thin,  as  voices  from  the  grave; 
And  deep-asleep  he  seemed,  yet  all  awake, 
And  music  in  his  ears  his  beating  heart  did  make. 

They  sat  them  down  upon  the  yellow  sand, 
tween  the  sun  and  moon  upon  the  shore; 
•  it  was  to  dream  of  Father-land, 
<  U  child  and  wife,  and  slave  ;  but  evermore 
\\  >st  weary  seemed  the  sea,  weary  the  oar, 
\\\-ar\'  the  wandering  fields  of  barren  foam. 
Then  sonic  one  said,  "We  will  return  no  more;" 
And  all  at  once  they  sang,  "Our  island  home 
I    far  beyond  the  wave;  we  will  no  longer  roam." 

CHORIC    SONG. 

I. 

There  is  sweet  music  here  that  softer  falls 
Than  petals  from  blown  ro  •  s  on  the  grass, 
night-dews  on  still  waters  between  walls 
'  m  shadowy  granite,  in  a  gleaming  pass ; 
Music  that  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies, 
Than  tired  eyelids  upon  t ii ed  ey< 
Musi*   thai  brings  sweet  sleep  down  from  the  blissful 

ski 

I  [ere  are  i  ool  mosses  deep. 

And  thro'  the  moss  the  ivies  creep, 


30  ALFRED    TENNYSON. 

And  in  the  stream  the  long-leaved  flowers  weep, 
And  from  the  craggy  ledge  the  poppy  hangs  in  sleep. 

ii. 

Why  are  we  weighed  upon  with  heaviness, 

And  utterly  consumed  with  sharp  distress, 

While  all  things  else  have  rest  from  weariness  ? 

All  things  have  rest  :  why  should  we  toil  alone, 

We  only  toil,  who  are  the  first  of  things, 

And  make  perpetual  moan, 

Still  from  one  sorrow  to  another  thrown  : 

Nor  ever  fold  our  wings, 

And  cease  from  wanderings, 

Nor  steep  our  brows  in  slumber's  holy  balm  ; 

Nor  hearken  what  the  inner  spirit  sings, 

"There  is  no  joy  but  calm  !  " 

Why  should  we  only  toil,  the  roof  and  crown  of  things  ? 

in. 

Lo  !  in  the  middle  of  the  wood, 

The  folded  leaf  is  woo'd  from  out  the  bud 

With  winds  upon  the  branch,  and  there 

Grows  green  and  broad,  and  takes  no  care, 

Sun-steeped  at  noon,  and  in  the  moon 

Nightly  dew-fed;   and  turning  yellow 

Falls,  and  floats  adown  the  air. 

Lo  !  sweetened  with  the  summer  light, 

The  full-juiced  apple,  waxing  over-mellow, 

Drops  in  a  silent  autumn  night. 

All  its  allotted  length  of  days, 

The  flower  ripens  in  its  place, 

Ripens  and  fades,  and  falls,  and  hath  no  toil, 

Fast-rooted  in  the  fruitful  soil. 


THE   LOTOS-EATERS.  31 

IV. 

Hateful  is  the  dark-blue  sky, 
Vaulted  o'er  the  dark-blue  sea. 
Death  is  the  end  of  life  ;  ah,  why- 
Should  life  all  labour  be  ? 
Let  us  alone.     Time  driveth  onward  fast, 
And  in  a  little  while  our  lips  are  dumb. 
Let  us  alone.     What  is  it  that  will  last  ? 
All  things  are  taken  from  us,  and  become 
Portions  and  parcels  of  the  dreadful  Past. 
Let  us  alone.      What  pleasure  can  we  have 
To  war  with  evil  ?     Is  there  any  peace 
In  ever  climbing  up  the  climbing  wave? 
Ail  things  have  rest,  and  ripen  toward  the  grave 
In  silence;  ripen,  fall,  and  cease: 
1        ■  us  long  rest  or  death,  dark  death,  or  dreamful  ease. 

V. 

How  sweet  it  were,  hearing  the  downward  stream, 

With  half-shut  e\         er  to  seem 

I     Ming  asleep  in  a  half-dream  ! 

To  dream  and  dream,  like  yonder  amber  light 

Which  will  not  leave  the  myrrh-bush  on  the  height  ; 

To  hear  eat  li  other's  whispered  speech  ; 

1    •  ing  the  Lotos  day  by  day, 

'I  o  watch  the  crisping  ripples  on  the  beach, 

And  tender  i  urving  lines  <>|  <  nimy  spray; 
I  0  lend  our  hearts  and  spirits  wholly 

l     the  influent  e  oi  mild  minded  melancholy; 

To  muse  and  brood  and  live  again  in  memory, 

With  those  old  fat  es  of  our  infant  v 

I  [<  iped  over  with  a  mound  ol  grass, 

Two  handfuls  oi  white  dust,  shut  in  an  urn  ol  brass! 


32  ALFRED    TENNYSON. 


VI. 


Dear  is  the  memory  of  our  wedded  lives, 

And  dear  the  last  embraces  of  our  wives 

And  their  warm  tears  :  but  all  hath  suffered  change  ; 

For  surely  now  our  household  hearths  are  cold : 

Our  sons  inherit  us  :  our  looks  are  strange  : 

And  we  should  come  like  ghosts  to  trouble  joy. 

Or  else  the  island-princes  over-bold 

Have  eat  our  substance,  and  the  minstrel  sings 

Before  them  of  the  ten-years'  war  in  Troy, 

And  our  great  deeds,  as  half-forgotten  things. 

Is  there  confusion  in  the  little  isle  ? 

Let  what  is  broken  so  remain. 

The  gods  are  hard  to  reconcile  : 

'Tis  hard  to  settle  order  once  again. 

There  is  confusion  worse  than  death, 

Trouble  on  trouble,  pain  on  pain, 

Long  labour  unto  aged  breath, 

Sore  task  to  hearts  worn  out  by  many  wars, 

And  eyes  grown  dim  with  gazing  on  the  pilot-stars. 

VII. 

But,  propped  on  beds  of  amaranth  and  moly, 

How  sweet  (while  warm  airs  lull  us,  blowing  lowly) 

With  half-dropped  eyelids  still, 

Beneath  a  heaven  dark  and  holy, 

To  watch  the  long  bright  river  drawing  slowly 

His  waters  from  the  purple  hill  — 

To  hear  the  dewy  echoes  calling 

From  cave  to  cave  thro'  the  thick-twined  vine  — 

To  watch  the  emerald-coloured  water  falling 

Thro'  many  a  wov'n  acanthus-wreath  divine ! 


THE  LOTOS-EATERS.  33 

Only  to  hear  and  see  the  far-off  sparkling  brine, 

Only  to  hear  were  sweet,  stretched  out  beneath  the  pine. 

VIII. 

The  Lotos  blooms  below  the  barren  peak  : 

The  Lotos  blows  by  every  winding  creek  : 

All  day  the  wind  breathes  low  with  mellower  tone  : 

Thru'  every  hollow  cave  and  alley  lone 

Round  and  round  the  spicy  downs  the  yellow  Lotos-dust 

is  blown. 
We  have  had  enough  of  action,  and  of  motion  we, 
Rolled   to  starboard,  rolled  to  larboard,  when  the  surge 

wa  ling  free, 

Where  the  wallowing  monster  spouted  his  foam-fountains 

in  the  sea. 
I     I  us  swear  an  oath,  and  keep  it  with  an  equal  mind, 
In  the  hollow  LotOS-land  to  live  and  lie  reclined 
On  the  hills  like  gods  together,  careless  <»!'  mankind. 
1        the)-  lie  beside  their  nectar,  and  tin-  bolts  are  hurled 
I        below  them  in  the  valle)  S,  and  the  clouds  are  lightly 

led 
Round  their  golden  houses,  girdled  with  the  gleaming 

world  : 
Where  they  smile  iii  s  :<  ret,  looking  over  wasted  lands, 

Blight  and  I. inline,  plague  and  earthquake,  roaring  deeps 

and  fiery  sands, 

Clanging  fighl  I   flaming  towns,  and  sinking  ships, 

and  praying  hands. 
But  they  smile,  they  find  a  music  centred  in  a  doleful 

song 

up,  a  lamental  ion  and  an  .nn  lent  tale  oi   Wn  i 

Like  a  tale  of  little  meaning  tho'  the  words  are  stroii 

Chanted  from  an  ill  used  race  ol   men  that  i  iie  soil, 


34  ALFRED    TENNYSON. 

Sow  the  seed,  and  reap  the  harvest  with  enduring  toil, 
Storing  yearly  little  dues  of  wheat,  and  wine  and  oil ; 
Till  they  perish  and  they  suffer  —  some,'  tis  whispered, 

down  in  hell 
Suffer  endless  anguish,  others  in  Elysian  valleys  dwell, 
Resting  weary  limbs  at  last  on  beds  of  asphodel. 
Surely,  surely,  slumber  is  more  sweet  than  toil,  the  shore 
Than  labour  in  the  deep  mid-ocean,  wind  and  wave  and 

oar; 
Oh,  rest  ye,  brother  mariners,  we  will  not  wander  more. 


NOTE. 

"Thence  for  nine  whole  days  was  I  borne  by  ruinous  winds  over  the 
teeming  deep;  but  on  the  tenth  day  we  set  foot  on  the  land  of  the  lotus- 
eaters,  who  eat  a  flowery  food.  So  we  stepped  ashore  and  drew  water, 
and  straightway  my  company  took  their  mid-day  meal  by  the  swift  ships. 
Now  when  we  had  tasted  meat  and  drink,  I  sent  forth  certain  of  my  com- 
pany to  go  and  make  search  of  what  manner  of  men  they  were  who  here 
live  upon  the  earth  by  bread,  and  I  chose  out  two  of  my  fellows,  and  sent 
a  third  with  them  as  herald.  Then  straightway  they  went  and  mixed  with 
the  men  of  the  lotus-eaters,  and  so  it  was  that  the  lotus-eaters  devised  not 
death  for  our  fellows,  but  gave  them  of  the  lotus  to  taste.  Now  whosoever 
of  them  did  eat  the  honey-sweet  fruit  of  the  lotus,  had  no  more  wish  to 
bring  tidings  nor  to  come  back,  but  there  he  chose  to  abide  with  the  lotus- 
eating  men,  ever  feeding  on  the  lotus,  and  forgetful  of  his  homeward  way. 
Therefore  I  led  them  back  to  the  ships  weeping,  and  sore  against  theit 
will,  and  dragged  them  beneath  the  benches,  and  bound  them  in  the  hollow 
barques.  15ut  I  commanded  the  rest  of  my  well-loved  company  to  make 
I  and  go  on  board  the  swift  ships,  lest  haply  any  should  eat  of  the 
lotus  and  be  forgetful  of  returning."  —  Homer 's  Odyssey,  ix,  80. 

"  In  this  poem,  'The  Lotos-Eaters,'  the  artistic  ideal  of  the  young  poet 
(it  was  written  in  1830)  found  its  most  finished  expression  and  its  culmi- 
nating point.  Here  he  seems  to  have  attained  a  consciousness  that  beyond 
the  ideal  which  he  had  adopted  there  is  another,  larger,  grander,  and  more 
satisfying.  Xo\\  hen-  else,  perhaps,  in  the  range  of  poetry,  is  the  trance  of 
a  listless  life  so  harmoniously  married  to  appropriate  melodies  and  appro- 
priate accompaniments."  —  North  British  Review. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE.  35 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

ALFRED  Tennyson  was  born  at  Somersby,  Lincolnshire,  Eng- 
land, in  1809.  His  early  education  was  received  at  home  from  his 
father,  who  was  rector  of  Somersby  and  vicar  of  Bennington  and 
Grimsby.  He  was  afterwards  sent  to  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
where,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  he  received  the  chancellor's  medal  for  a 
poem  in  blank  verse,  entitled  "Timbuctoo."  In  1830  he  published 
a  small  volume  of  "  Poems  chiefly  Lyrical."  A  revised  edition  of 
this  volume,  published  in  1833,  contained  "The  Lady  of  Shalott," 
"Tl.  -Eaters,"  and   others  of  his   best-known  short  poems. 

In   1850,  upon  the  death  of  Wordsworth,  he  was  appointed  poet- 
laureate.      In  the  same  year  he  was  married  to  Emily,  daughter  of 
v  Sellwood,  Esq.,  and  niece  of  Sir  John  Franklin.     Since  1851, 
Tennyson  has  resided  tor  the  g  tit   of  the  time  at  Farring- 

ford,  Freshwater,  Isle  of  Wight.     In  I  >>  1  ember,  18S3,  he  was  made 
;i  Tennyson  of  Aldworth  and  Freshwater. 

-Mr.  Tennyson,"  says  R.  II.  Hutton,  -was  an  artist  even  before 
he  was  a  poet;  in  other  words,  the  eye  for  beauty,  grace,  and  har- 
monj  of  effeel  was  even  more  emphatically  one  of  his  original  gifts 
than  the  voice  for  poetic  utterance  itself.  This,  probably,  it  is  which 
make,  his  very  earliest  pie.  es  appeal  so  full  of  effort,  and  sometimes 
even  so  full  of  affectation.  They  were  elaborate  attempts  to  embody 
what   In-  the  natural  voice  of  the  poet  had  come  to  him. 

I  think  it  possible  to  trace  no1  onlj  a  pre-poetic  period  in  his  art, 
but  to  date  the  period  at  which   the  soul   was  'infused'  into  his 
ind  the  brilliant  external  figures  became  the  dwelling-plao  • 
rminating  poetic  thoughl  ting  their  own  music.    Curiously 

enough,  the  firsl  poem  where  thi  n  i  an)  trai  e  of  those  musings  of 
the  Round  Table  to  whi<  h  he  has  direi  ted  so  mui  h  of  his  mature  1 
genius,  is  al  ion  thai   the  poel  was  sit  l<  of  the  magic 

minor  .,i  fancy  and  its  picture-shadows,  and  was  turning  awa)  from 
them  to  the  poetr)  ol  human  lite.     Whenevei   Mr.  Tennyson's  pit 

tonal  lam  v  has  had  in  it  any  degree  in   its  powei    to  run  .1w.1v  with 

the  guiding  and  i  ontrolling  mind,  the  rii  hness  and  the  workmanship 

1  rgrown  the  spiritual  prim  iple  ol  his  poi 
It  is  obvious,  foi  in  itant  e,  thai  1  ven  in  n  lation  to  natural    1 

his  poetical  facultj   delights  in  mosl  are  rich,  luxuriant  land- 


36  ALFRED    TENNYSON. 

scapes,  in  which  either  nature  or  man  has  accumulated  a  lavish 
variety  of  effects.  It  is  in  the  scenery  of  the  mill,  the  garden,  the 
chase,  the  down,  the  rich  pastures,  the  harvest-field,  the  palace 
pleasure-grounds,  the  Lord  of  Burleigh's  fair  domains,  the  luxuriant 
sylvan  beauty,  bearing  testimony  to  the  careful  hand  of  man,  '  the 
summer  crisp  'with  shining  woods,1  that  Mr.  Tennyson  most  de- 
lights. It"  he  strays  to  rarer  scenes,  it  is  almost  in  search  of  richer 
and  more  luxuriant  loveliness,  like  the  tropical  splendors  of  'Enoch 
Arden'  and  the  enervating  skies  which  cheated  the  Lotos-Eaters  of 
their  longing  for  home.'1 

••  Mr.  Tennyson,"  says  a  writer  in  the  North  British  Review,  "  de- 
serves an  especial  study,  not  only  as  a  poet,  but  as  a  leader  and  a 
landmark  of  popular  thought  and  feeling.  As  a  poet,  he  belongs  to 
the  highest  category  of  English  writers ;  for  poetry  is  the  strongest 
and  most  vigorous  branch  of  English  literature.  In  this  literature 
his  works  are  evidently  destined  to  secure  a  permanent  place ;  for 
they  express  in  language  refined  and  artistic,  but  not  unfamiliar,  a 
large  segment  of  the  popular  thought  of  the  period  over  which  they 
range.  He  has,  moreover,  a  clearly  marked  if  not  strongly  indi- 
vidualized style,  which  has  served  as  a  model  for  imitators,  and  as  a 
starting-point  for  poets  who  have  sought  to  improve  upon  it." 

Principal  Poems  of  Tennyson  :  <  barge  of  the  Light  Brigade,  written 
in  1851;  Dora,  1842;  The  Dying  Swan,  1830;  Enoch  Arden,  1864;  Idylls 
of  the  King,  1859-1873,  —  to  he  read  in  the  following  order:  The  Coming 
of  Arthur;  Gareth  and  Lynette;  Geraint  and  Enid;  Merlin  and  Vivien; 
Lancelot  and  Elaine;  The  Holy  Grail;  Pelleas  and  Ettarre;  The  Last 
Tournament;  Guinevere;  The  Passing  of  Arthur;— In  Memoriam,  1850 
(131  parts);  Locksley  Hall,  1842;  Locksley  Hall  Sixty  Years  Afterwards, 
1886;  Maud,  1855  (3  parts);  The  Princess,  1847  (7  parts);  Ode  on  the 
Death  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  1852. 

Dramatic  Pieces:  Queen  Mary,  1875;  Harold,  1876;  The  Cup,  1881; 
The  Falcon,  1882;  Becket,  1884;  The  Foresters:  Robin  Hood  and  Maid 
Marian,  1892. 

Rl  11  1  1  \<  ES:  Stedman's  Victorian  Poets;  Van  Dyke's  The  Poetry  of 
Tennyson;  Taine's  History  of  English  Literature,  vol.  IV;  Kingsley's 
Miscellanies  ;  Elsdale's  Studies  in  the  Ldylls;  Buchanan's  Master  Spirits; 
Tainsh's  Studies  in  Tennyson;  Hutton's  Essays;  Chapman's  Companion 
to  In  Memoriam  ;  Walters's  In   Tennyson  Land. 


William  TOortewortb. 


»»;« 


ODE. 

Intimations   of    Immortality   from    Recollections 
of  Early  Childhood. 

The  Child  is  fathei  '  ol  the  Man; 
And  I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 
Bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety. 

I. 

There  was  a  time  when  meadow,  grove,  and  stream, 
The  earth,  and  every  common  sight, 
To  me  did  seem 
Apparelled2  in  celestial  light, 

The  glory  and  the  freshness  ol  a  dream. 
It  is  not  now  as  it   hath  been  ol   \  ore  ; — 

Turn  wheresoe'er  I  may, 

By  night  or  day, 
The  things  which   I  have  seen   I   now  can  see  no  more. 

ii. 

The  rainbow  i  onus  and  goes, 
And  lovely  is  the  rose ; 
The  moon  doth  with  delight 
Look  round  her  when  the  heavens  an-  bare ; 

17 


3S  WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 

Waters  on  a  starry  night 
Arc  beautiful  and  fair ; 
The  sunshine  is  a  glorious  birth ; 
But  yet  I  know,  where'er  I  go, 
That  there  hath  passed  away  a  glory  from  the  earth. 

m. 

Now,  while  the  birds  thus  sing  a  joyous  song, 
And  while  the  young  lambs  bound 
As  to  the  tabor's 3  sound, 
To  me  alone  there  came  a  thought  of  grief : 
A  timely  utterance  gave  that  thought  relief, 

And  I  again  am  strong. 
The  cataracts4  blow  their  trumpets  from  the  steep; 
No  more  shall  grief  of  mine  the  season  wrong ; 
I  hear  the  echoes5  through  the  mountains  throng; 
The  winds  come  to  me  from  the  fields  of  sleep,6 
And  all  the  earth  is  gay ; 
Land  and  sea 
Give  themselves  up  to  jollity," 

And  with  the  heart  of  May8 
Doth  every  beast  keep  holiday. 
Thou  child  of  joy, 
Shout  round  me,  let  me  hear  thy  shouts,  thou  happy 
shepherd-boy ! 

IV. 

Ye  blessed  creatures,  I  have  heard  the  call 

Ye  to  each  other  make ;  I  see 
The  heavens  laugh  with  you  in  your  jubilee; 

My  heart  is  at  your  festival. 
My  head  hath  its  coronal,9 
The  fulness  of  your  bliss,  I  feel  —  I  feel  it  all. 


ODE    O.Y  IMMORTALITY.  39 

Oh  evil  day  if  I  were  sullen 
While  Earth  herself  is  adorning 

This  sweet  May  morning, 
And  the  children  are  culling 

On  every  side, 
In  a  thousand  valleys  far  and  wide, 
Fresh  flowers,  while  the  sun  shines  warm, 
And  the  babe  leaps  up10  on  his  mother's  arm  : 
I  hear,  I  hear,  with  joy  I  hear ! 
—  But  there's  a  tree,11  of  many,  one, 
A  single  field  which  I  have  looked  upon, 
Both  of  them  speak  of  something  that  is  gone  : 
The  pansy  Vl  at  my  feet 
Doth  the  same  tale  repeat. 
Whither  is  fled  the  visionary  gleam  ? 
Where  is  it  now,  the  glory  and  the  dream  ? 


Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  13  and  a  forgetting  : 
The  soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  star, 

Hath  had  elsewhere  its  selling, 
And  i  ometh  from  afar ; 

Not  in  rutin-  forgetfulness, 

And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 
But  trailing  clouds  oi  glory  do  we  come 

From  God,  who  Is  our  home. 
I  I.e.  en  li<->  aboul  us  in  our  infancy  ! 
Shades  oi  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 

Upon  t  he  growing  boy, 
Bui  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  (lows, 

I  [e  sees  it  in  his  joy  ; 
The  youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  Easl 

Must  travel,  still  i  i  nature's  pi  i' 


40  WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended  ; 
At  length  the  man  perceives  it  die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 

VI. 

Earth  fills  her  lap  with  pleasures  of  her  own ; 

Yearnings  she  hath  in  her  own  natural  kind, 

And  even  with  something  of  a  mother's  mind, 
And  no  unworthy  aim, 
The  homely  nurse  doth  all  she  can 

To  make  her  foster-child,  her  inmate  man, 
Forget  the  glories  he  hath  known, 

And  that  imperial  palace  whence  he  came. 

VII. 

Behold  the  child  14  among  his  new-born  blisses, 
A  six  years'  darling  of  a  pigmy  size  ! 
See,  where  'mid  work  of  his  own  hand  he  lies, 
Fretted  by  sallies  of  his  mother's  kisses, 
With  light  upon  him  from  his  father's  eyes ! 
See  at  his  feet  some  little  plan  or  chart, 
Some  fragment  from  his  dream  of  human  life, 
Shaped  by  himself  with  newly-learned  art  — 

A  wedding  or  a  festival, 

A  mourning  or  a  funeral ; 

And  this  hath  now  his  heart, 

And  unto  this  he  frames  his  song. 
Then  will  he  fit  his  tongue 
To  dialogues  of  business,  love,  or  strife  : 

But  it  will  not  be  long 

Ere  this  be  thrown  aside, 

And  with  new  joy  and  pride 


ODE    OX  IMMORTALITY.  -U 

The  little  actor  cons  another  part, 
Filling  from  time  to  time  his  '  humorous  stage  *  '"' 
With  all  the  persons,  clown  to  palsied  age, 
That  Life  brings  with  her  in  her  equipage, 

As  if  his  whole  vocation 

Were  endless  imitation. 

VIII. 

Thou,  whose  exterior  semblance  doth  belie 

Thy  soul's  immensity; 
Thou  best  philosopher,  who  yet  dost  keep 
Thy  heritage,  thou  eye  among  the  blind, 
That,  deaf  and  silent,  read'st  the  eternal  deep, 
Haunted  for  ever  by  the  eternal  mind, — 

Might}-  prophet !  seer  blest !  l6 

On  whom  those  truths  do  rest, 
Which  we  are  toiling  all  our  lives  to  find, 
In  darkness  lost,  the  darkness  of  the  grave  ; 
Thou,  over  whom  thy  immortality 
Broods  like  the  day,  a  master  o'er  a  slave, 
A  presence  which  is  not  to  be  put  l>v; 
Thou  little  child,  yet  glorious  in  tin-  might 
<  >!  heaven-born  freedom  on  thy  being's  height, 
Why  with  such  earnesl  pains  (lost  tlnai  provoke 

The  years  to  lain-  the  inevitable  yoke, 
Thus  blindly  with  thy  blessedness  at  stiil 

Full  soon  thy  soul  shall  have  her  earthly  freight, 

And  i  UStom  lie  upon  thee  with  a  weight, 
Ike-.,!      1 1  0St,  and  deep  alums!   as  i  1 1  ■    ' 

l\. 
(  )  joy,  that   in  OUT  emb 

Is  something  I ha1  doth  live, 


42  WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 

That  nature  yet  remembers 
What  was  so  fugitive  ! 
The  thought  of  our  past  years  in  me  doth  breed 
Perpetual  benediction  :  not  indeed 
For  that  which  is  most  worthy  to  be  blest  — 
Delight  and  liberty,  the  simple  creed 
Of  childhood,  whether  busy  or  at  rest, 
With  new-fledged  hope  still  fluttering  in  his  breast 
Not  for  these  I  raise 
The  song  of  thanks  and  praise ; 
But  for  those  obstinate  questionings 
Of  sense  and  outward  things, 
Fallings  from  us,  vanishings  ; 1T 
Blank  misgivings 18  of  a  creature 
Moving  about  in  worlds  not  realized, 
High  instincts  before  which  our  mortal  nature 
Did  tremble  like  a  guilty  thing  surprised  : 
But  for  those  first  affections, 
Those  shadowy  recollections, 
Which,  be  they  what  they  may, 
Are  yet  the  fountain  light  of  all  our  day, 
Are  yet  a  master  light  of  all  our  seeing ; 

Uphold  us,  cherish,  and  have  power  to  make 
Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being 
Of  the  eternal  silence :  truths  that  wake, 

To  perish  never ; 
Which  neither  listlessness,  nor  mad  endeavor, 

Nor  man  nor  boy. 
Nor  all  that  is  at  enmity  with  joy, 
Can  utterly  abolish  or  destroy  ! 

Hence  in  a  season  of  calm  weather, 
Though  inland  far  we  be, 
Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 


ODE    ON  IMMORTALITY.  -13 

Which  brought  us  hither, 

Can  in  a  moment  travel  thither, 
And  see  the  children  sport  upon  the  shore, 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore. 


Then  sing,  ye  birds!   sing,  sing  a  joyous  song ! 
And  let  the  young  lambs  bound 
As  to  the  tabor's  sound  ! 

We  in  thought  will  join  your  throng, 
Ye  that  pipe  and  ye  that  play, 
Ye  that  through  your  hearts  to-day 
Feel  the  gladness  of  the  May  ! 

What  though  the  radiance  which  was  once  so  bright 

He  now  forever  taken  from  my  sight, 

Though  nothing  can  bring  back  the  hour 

Of  splendor  in  the  grass,  of  glory  in  the  flower  ? 
We  will  grieve  not,  rather  find 
Strength  in  what  remains  behind; 
In  the  primal  sympathy 
Which,  having  been,  must  ever  be  : 
In  the  southing  thoughts  that  sprin 
Out  of  human  suffering  ; 
In  the  faith  thai  looks  through  death, 

In  years  that  bring  the  philosophic  mind. 

XI. 

And  o  ye  fountains,  meadows,  hills,  and  gro> 
Forebode  nol  any  severing  ol  our  loves ! 

■  in  my  hearl  ol  hearts  I  feel  your  mighl  ; 
I  only  have  relinquished  one  delight 
To  live  beneath  your  more  habitual  sway. 
I  love  the  brooks,  which  down  tin  ii   i  ham  t, 


44  WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 

Even  more  than  when  I  tripped  lightly  as  they  : 
The  innocent  brightness  of  a  new-born  day 

Is  lovely  yet ; 
The  clouds  that  gather  round  the  setting  sun19 
Do  take  a  sober  coloring  from  an  eye 
That  hath  kept  watch  o'er  man's  mortality  ; 
Another  race  hath  been,  and  other  palms  are  won. 
Thanks  to  the  human  heart  by  which  we  live, 
Thanks  to  its  tenderness,  its  joys,  and  fears, 
To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears. 


NOTES. 


"This  was  composed,"  says  Wordsworth,  "during  my  residence  at 
Town-End,  Grasmere  (i 803-1806).  Two  years  at  last  passed  between 
the  writing  of  the  first  four  stanzas  and  the  remaining  part.  To  the  atten- 
tive and  competent  reader  the  whole  sufficiently  explains  itself,  but  there 
may  be  no  harm  in  adverting  here  to  particular  feelings  or  experiences  of 
my  own  mind  on  which  the  structure  of  the  poem  partly  rests.  Nothing 
was  more  difficult  for  me  in  childhood  than  to  admit  the  notion  of  death 
as  a  state  applicable  to  my  own  being.     1  have  said  elsewhere : 

'  A  simple  child 
That  lightly  draws  its  breath, 
And  feels  its  life  in  every  limb, 
What  should  it  know  of  death  ?  '* 

"  But  it  was  not  so  much  from  the  source  of  animal  vivacity  that  my 
difficulty  came,  as  from  a  sense  of  the  indomitableness  of  the  spirit  within 
me.  I  used  to  brood  over  the  stories  of  Enoch  and  Elijah,  and  almost 
persuade  myself  that,  whatever  might  become  of  others,  I  should  be  trans- 
lated in  something  of  the  same  way  to  heaven.  With  a  feeling  congenial 
to  this,  I  was  often  unable  to  think  of  external  things  as  having  external 
existence,  and  I  communed  with  all  that  I  saw  as  something  not  apart 
from,  but  inherent  in,  my  own  immaterial  nature.  Many  times  while 
going  to  school  have  I  grasped  at  a  wall  or  tree  to  recall  myself  from  this 
abyss  of  idealism  to  reality.     At  that  time  I  was  afraid  of  mere  processes. 

*  The  first  stanza  of  We  are  Seven,  said  to  have  been  written  by  Coleridge. 


ODE    ON  IMMORTALITY.  45 

In  later  periods  of  life  I  have  deplored,  as  we  have  all  reason  to  do,  a 
subjugation  of  an  opposite  character,  and  have  rejoiced  over  the  remem- 
brances, as  is  expressed  in  the  lines,  Obstinate  questionings,  etc.  To  that 
dream-like  vividness  and  splendor  which  invests  objects  ol  sight  in  childhood 
every  one,  I  believe,  if  he  could  look  back,  could  bear  testimony,  and  1  need 
not  dwell  upon  it  here;  but  having  in  the  poem  regarded  it  as  a  presump- 
tive evidence  of  a  prior  state  of  existence,  I  think  it  right  to  protest  against 
a  conclusion  which  has  given  pain  to  some  good  and  pious  persons,  that  1 
meant  to  inculcate  such  a  belief.  It  is  far  too  shadowy  a  notion  to  be  re- 
commended to  faith  as  more  than  an  element  in  our  instincts  of  immortality. 
l!ut  let  us  bear  in  mind  that,  though  the  idea  is  not  advanced  in  Revelation, 
there  is  nothing  there  to  contradict  it,  and  the  fall  of  man  presents  an  anal- 
ogy in  its  favor.  Accordingly,  a  pre-existent  state  has  entered  into  the  popu- 
lar creeds  of  many  nations,  and  among  all  prisons  acquainted  with  classic 
literature  is  known  as  an  ingredient  in  Platonic  philosophy.  Archimedes 
said  that  he  could  move  the  world  if  he  had  a  point  whereon  to  rest  his 
machine.  Who  has  not  felt  the  same  aspirations  as  regards  the  world  "I  his 
mind?  Having  to  wield  some  of  its  elements  when  I  was  impelled  to  write 
this  poem  on  the  '  Immortality  of  the  Soul,'  I  took  hold  ,,i  the  notion  of  pre- 
existence  as  having  sufficient  foundation  in  humanity  for  authorizing  me 
to  make  for  my  purpose  the  best  use  of  it  I  could  as  a  ]> 

Lord  Houghton  says  of  this  poem:   "  If  1   am  asked  what  is  the  great- 
est poem  in  the  English  language,  I  never   for  a   m ent  hesitate  to  say, 

Wordsworth's  •  Ode  on  the  [nl  ol  Immortality."' 

Principal  Shairp  says :  "'The  Ode  on   [m talit  the  highest 

limit  which  the  tide  ol  poetic  inspiration  has  reached   in   England 
tin-,  i  entury,  or  indeed  sini  el  ol  Milton.'' 

The  idea  of  the  pre-<  of  the  soul  had  already  been  treated  by 

Henry  Yaughan  in  "  Silex  Scintillans"  (1655). 

"  1  [appy  thou  inl  .  when  I 

Shined  in  my  angel-infan 

re  l  undei  tood  thi  1  p 
Appointed  for  my  second 

ml  to  I  in'  j  .i" 
But  a  whil  [ht ; 

When  yet  I  had  not  walked  abi 
A  1:  0  from  my  fii  1  l  *  >ve, 

And  lookin 

Shelley,  in  "  A  1  lit: 

10  limel 
On  who  lb, 


46  WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 

Trembling  at  that  where  I  had  stood  before, 
When  will  return  the  glory  of  your  prime  ? 
No  more  —  oh,  never  more! 

"  Out  of  the  day  and  night 
A  joy  has  taken  (light ; 

Fresh  spring,  and  summer,  and  winter  hoar, 
Move  my  faint  heart  with  grief,  but  with  delight 

No  more  —  oh,  never  more !  " 

1.  The  child  is  father,  etc.  These  lines  are  from  a  short  poem  by 
Wordsworth,  entitled  "  My  Heart  leaps  up  "  : 

"  My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 

A  rainbow  in  the  sky. 
So  was  it  when  my  life  began ; 
So  is  it  now  I  am  a  man  ; 
So  be  it  when  I  shall  grow  old. 

Or  let  me  die! 
The  child  is  father  of  the  man ; 
And  I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 
Bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety." 

Compare  with  Milton's  lines  in  '  Paradise  Regained,'  Bk.  IV : 

"  The  childhood  shows  the  man 
As  morning  shows  the  day." 

2.  apparelled.  From  Fr.  pareil,  Lat.  parilis.  Other  English  words 
as  pair,  compare,  etc.,  are  similarly  derived.  To  apparel  is  strictly  to  pair, 
to  suit,  to  put  like  to  like. 

3.  tabor.  From  Old  Fr.  labour,  Fr.  tambour.  Compare  Eng.  tam- 
bourine. Originally  from  the  root  tap,  Gr.  tup,  to  strike  lightly.  An 
ancient  musical  instrument,  —  a  small  one-ended  drum  having  a  handle  pro- 
jecting from  the  frame,  by  which  it  was  held  in  the  left  hand,  while  it  was 
beaten  with  a  stick  held  in  the  right  hand. 

4.  the  cataracts.  The  poet  has  probably  in  mind  the  "ghills"  or 
falls  of  his  own  lake  country.    The  metaphor  which  he  uses  is  a  bold  one. 

5.  the  echoes.     Compare  with  a  similar  line  by  Shelley  : 

"  Lost  Echo  sits  amid  the  voiceless  mountains." 

—  Adonais,  127. 

6.  the  fields  of  sleep.  "The  yet  reposeful,  slumbering  country  side." 
—  Hales.     "  The  fields  that  were  dark  during  the  hours  of  sleep." — Knight. 

7.  jollity.    Merriment.   From  1&t.jovialis.   See  Milton's  'L' Allegro,'  26: 

"  Haste  thee  nymph  and  bring  with  thee 
Jest  and  youthful  jollity." 


ODE    ON  IMMORTALITY.  47 

8.  May.  May,  with  the  poets,  is  the  month  of  gayety.  The  older 
poetry  especially  is  full  of  May  raptures.     Chaucer  says: 

"  For  May  will  have  no  sluggardv  a-night : 
The  season  pricketh  ever)  gentle  heart, 
And  maketta  him  out  of  his  sleep  to  start." 

9.  coronal.  A  crown  of  flowers,  a  chaplet.  As  at  the  Roman  ban- 
quets. On  such  occasions  it  was  usual  for  the  host  to  give  chaplets  to  his 
guests.  Festoons  of  flowers  were  also  sometimes  hung  over  their  necks 
and  breasts.  The  chaplet,  or  coronal,  was  regarded  as  a  cheerful  orna- 
ment and  symbol  y>{  festivity. 

10.  the  babe  leaps  up.  That  is  for  joy.  See  the  poem,  "  My  heart 
leaps  up,"  on  page  46. 

11.  there's  a  tree.  Compare  this  thought  with  that  contained  in  the 
following  lines: 

"Only,  one  little  sight,  one  plant, 
.  .  .  whene'er  the  leaf  grows  there 
Its  drop  comes  from  my  heart,  that's  all." 

—  Browning's  May  and  I  hath. 

12.  pansy.  The  flower  of  thought.  From  Fr.  pensee,  thought;  pen- 
ser,  to  think.  "  It  probably  derived  its  name,  thought  or  fancy,  from  its 
fanciful  appearance."  —  Wares.  Another  derivation  of  the  word  is  from 
panacea,  meaning  all-heal,  a  name  given  l>y  the  Greeks  to  a  plant  which 
was  popularly  supposed  t"  cure  diseases  and  dispel  sorrow.  The  notion 
that  the  pansy  is  a  cure  fir  grief  is  shown  in  its  common  English  name, 
heart i-ea 

1  v   Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep,     flu   idea  "I  pre-existence  was  a  favor- 
:  the  ancient  philosophers.     The  doctrine  "t  metempsj 
form  of  the  same   idea,  was  held  by  tin-  ancient    Egyptians  and   is  still 
maintained  by  the  Buddhists.      [*<  nnyson  says: 

"A    old  mythologies  relate, 
Some  di  lit  awail 

iping  through  1  c  He, 

"  And  if  I  la.]  1 lei  i 

Some  legend  1  >l  .1  falli  n  1 

Alone  might  hint  of  m)  / 

14.    Behold  the  child      I  rrilar  pictui 

"  Behold  tin-  1  hild,  by  Nal  lw, 

Pleased  wif         ill  iw ; 
Somi   livelier  plaything  'lit, 

A  little  louder,  but  as  emptj  quite,"  /  Wan. 


4b  WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 

When  Wordsworth  wrote  of 

"  A  six  years'  darling  of  a  pigmy  size," 

he  probably  had  in  mind  Hartley  Coleridge,  who  was  then  a  child  of  that 
age.     See  his  poem  "To  Hartley  Coleridge,  Six  Years  Old." 

15.  humorous  stage.  See  Shakespeare's  lines  beginning  "All  the 
world's  a  stage,"  "  As  You  like  It,"  Act  ii,  se.  7.  The  word  humorous  has 
here  a  special  sense,  such  as  is  used  by  Hen  Jonson  in  his  "  Every  Man  in 
iiis  Humor." 

16.  best  philosopher  .  .  .  mighty  prophet !  seer  blest!  Stopford 
Brooke  says:  "These  expressions  taken  separately  have  scarcely  any 
recognizable  meaning.  By  taking  them  all  together,  we  feel  rather  than 
see  that  Wordsworth  intended  to  say  that  the  child,  having  lately  come 
from  a  perfect  existence,  in  which  he  saw  truth  directly,  and  was  at  home 
with  God,  retains,  unknown  to  us,  that  vision ;  —  and,  because  he  does,  is  the 
best  philosopher,  since  he  sees  at  once  that  which  we  through  philosophy 
are  endeavoring  to  reach;  is  the  mighty  prophet,  because  in  his  actions 
and  speech  he  tells  unconsciously  the  truths  he  sees,  but  the  sight  of  which 
we  have  lost;  is  more  closely  haunted  by  God,  more  near  to  the  immortal 
life,  more  purely  and  brightly  free  because  he  half  shares  in  the  pre-existent 
life  and  glory  out  of  which  he  has  come."  —  Theology  in  the  English  Poets. 

17.  Fallings  from  us,  vanishings.  "Fits  of  utter  dreaminess  and 
abstraction,  when  nothing  material  seems  solid,  but  everything  mere  mist 
and  shadow."  —  Hales. 

18.  Blank  misgivings.     Compare  Tennyson,  "Two  Voices": 

"  Moreover,  something  is  or  seems, 
Thai  touches  me  with  mystic  gleams, 
Like  glimpses  of  forgotten  dreams; 

"Of  something  felt,  like  something  here; 
Of  something  done,  I  know  not  where; 
Such  as  no  language  may  declare." 

19.  The  clouds  that  gather.  Compare  these  lines  with  the  following 
from  Wordsworth's  "  Excursion  "  : 

"  Ah  !  why  in  age 
Do  we'  revert  SO  fondly  to  the  walks 
Of  childhood,  but  that  there  the  soul  discerns 
The  dear  memorial  footsteps  unimpair'd 
Of  her  own  native  vigor,  thence  can  hear 
Reverberations  and  a  choral  song", 
Commingling  with  the  incense  that  ascends 
Undaunted  toward  the  imperishable  heavens, 
From  her  own  lonely  altar  ?  " 


THE    1  WO   APRIL   MORXJXGS.  49 


THE   TWO    APRIL    MORNINGS. 

We  walked  along,  while  bright  and  red 
Uprose  the  morning  sun  ; 
And  Matthew  ]  stopped,  he  looked,  and  said, 
1  The  will  of  God  be  done  ! ' 

A  village  schoolmaster  was  he, 
With  hair  of  glittering  gray; 
As  blithe  a  man  as  you  could  see 
(  >n  a  spring  holiday. 

And  on  that  morning,  through  the  grass, 
And  by  the  steaming  rills, 
We  travelled  merrily,  to  pass 
A  day  among  tin-  hills. 

'  '  )iir  work,'  said    I,  '  was  well  begun  : 
Then,  troin  thy  breast  what  thought, 
Beneath  so  beautiful  a  sun, 
So  sad  a  sigh  has  brought  ? ' 

A  second  time  did   Matthew  stop, 
And  fixing  still  his  < 
I  'pon  t  he  eastern  mountain  top, 
To  tin-  he  made  reply : 

'  Yon  cloud  with  that  long  purple  i  left 

Bl  in        1 1 1    -h   into  m\    mind 

A  day  like  this  u  hi'  h  I  have  left 
hull  thirty  years  behind. 


50  WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 

And  just  above  yon  slope  of  corn 
Such  colors,  and  no  other, 
Were  in  the  sky,  that  April  morn, 
Of  this  the  very  brother. 

With  rod  and  line  I  sued  the  sport 
Which  that  sweet  season  gave, 
And,  to  the  church-yard  come,  stopped  short 
Beside  my  daughter's  grave. 

Nine  summers  had  she  scarcely  seen, 
The  pride  of  all  the  vale  : 
And  then  she  sang  ;  —  she  would  have  been 
A  very  nightingale. 

Six  feet  in  earth  my  Emma  lay ; 
And  yet  I  loved  her  more, 
For  so  it  seemed,  than  till  that  day 
I  e'er  had  loved  before. 

And,  turning  from  her  grave,  I  met, 
Beside  the  churchyard  yew, 
A  blooming  girl,  whose  hair  was  wet 
With  points  of  morning  dew. 

A  basket  on  her  head  she  bare ; 
Her  brow  was  smooth  and  white : 
To  see  a  child  so  very  fair, 
It  was  a  pure  delight ! 

No  fountain  from  its  rocky  cave 
E'er  tripped  with  foot  so  free  ; 
She  seemed  as  happy  as  a  wave 
That  dances  on  the  sea. 


THE   SOLITARY  REAPER.  51 

There  came  from  me  a  sigh  of  pair 
Which  I  could  ill  confine ; 
I  looked  at  her,  and  looked  again  : 
And  did  not  wish  her  mine  ! ' 

Matthew  is  in  his  grave,  yet  now, 
Methinks,  I  see  him  stand, 
As  at  that  moment,  with  a  bough 
Of  wilding2  in  his  hand. 


notes. 


This  poem  was  written  in  1799,  and  published  the  following  year. 

1.  Matthew.  This  old  schoolmaster  is  described  elsewhere  by  Words- 
worth as  being  "made  up  uf  several,  both  of  liis  class  and  men  of  Other 
occupations." 

2.  wilding.     A  twig  from  a  wild  apple  tri 

"  Ten  ruddy  wildings  in  the  wood  I  found."  —  Dryden. 


THE   SOLITARY    REAPER. 

Behold  her,  single  in  the  field, 
Yon  solitary  highland  lass! 
Reaping  and  singing  by  herself; 
Stop  here,  or  genl  ly  pass  ! 
Alone  she  cuts  and  binds  the  grain, 
And  sings  a  melancholy  strain  ; 
( )  listen  !  for  the  vale  profound 
Is  o\  'allow  ing  wit  h  t  he  sound. 

\'<i  nightingale  did  ever  i  haunl 
More  well  ome  notes  to  weary  bands 
(  m  travell<  i  -  in  hady  haunl 

Among  Arabian  sands : 


bl  WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 

A  voice  so  thrilling  ne'er  was  heard 
In  spring-time  from  a  cuckoo-bird, 
Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas 
Among  the  farthest  Hebrides. 

Will  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings  ?  — 

Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 

For  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things, 

And  battles  long  ago  : 

Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 

Familiar  matter  of  to-day  ? 

Some  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain, 

That  has  been,  or  may  be  again  ? 

Whate'er  the  theme,  the  maiden  sang 
As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending; 
I  saw  her  singing  at  her  work, 
And  o'er  the  sickle  bendimr  ;  — 
I  listened,  motionless  and  still ; 
And,  as  I  mounted  up  the  hill, 
The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore, 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 

o-oX*Coo 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

William  Wordsworth  was  born  at  Cockermouth,  a  town  in 
Cumberland,  England,  April  7,  1770.  He  went  to  school  at  Hawks- 
head,  Lancashire,  whence  in  his  seventeenth  year  he  was  sent  to 
St.  John's  College,  Cambridge.  In  January,  1791,  he  took  his 
degree  at  the  University,  but  without  having  distinguished  himself 
in  any  way.  The  next  fifteen  or  sixteen  months  were  spent  in 
France,  just  then  in  the  first  wild  hopes  of  the  Revolution.  "In 
the  aspirations  and  hopes  of  the  revolutionists  he  was  an  ardent 
sharer;   he  thought  that  the  world's  great  age  was  beginning  anew  ; 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE.  53 

and  with  all  his  soul  he  hailed  so  splendid  an  era.  The  ultimate 
degradation  of  that  great  movement  by  wild  lawlessness,  and  then 
by  most  selfish  ambition,  alienated  his  sympathy  for  it."'  Towards 
the  close  of  1792  he  returned  to  England,  and  passed  the  subse- 
quent time  among  his  friends  in  London  and  elsewhere  till  he 
settled  with  his  sister  at  Racedown.  Dorsetshire,  in  1796.  In  the 
following  year  they  removed  to  Alfoxden.  It  was  during  this 
period  that  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Coleridge.  Wordsworth 
had  already  published  (1793)  two  little  volumes  of  poetry,  entitled 
■  iptivc  Skctclws  and  The  Evening  Walk;  but  they  showed 
little  promise  of  the  triumphs  which  were  to  crown  his  later  life. 
In  1798  the  first  volume  of  the  Lyrical  Ballads  was  published  at 
Bristol,  which  purported  to  be  the  joint  work  of  himself  and 
Mr.  Coleridge,  bul  to  winch  the  litter  contributed  only  "The 
Ancient  Mariner"  and  two  or  three  sin. iter  poems.  Alter  some 
months  spent  in  Germany,  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  established 
themselves  at  Grasmere,  in  the  lake  country.  In  1800  he  published 
the  second  volume  of  the  Lyrical  Ballads,  and  in  1X02  he  married 
Mary  Hutchinson.  From  1799  to  1814  he  was  mainly  busy  with  his 
great  philosophical  poem,  to  be  called  "The  Recluse,"  "containing 
of  Man.  Nature,  and  Society,"  of  which  "The  Prelude"  was 
to  be  the  introduction  and  ••The  Excursion"  the  Second  and  main 
Part,  lb-  designed  that  his  minor  pieces  should  Ik-  so  arranged  in 
connection  with  this  work  as  to  "give  them  claim  to  be  likened  to 
the  little  i  ells,  oratorio,  and  sepuh  hral  recesses,  ordinarily  included 
in  Gothic  churches."     This  plan,  however,  was  nevei  carried  out, 

of  the  First  and  Third    Parts  only  one  book   was  written,  and  it  has 

been    published.     From    [814  until  his   death   Wordsworth 
lived  serenely  and  quietly  at  Rydal  Mount,  m  ional  excur- 

sions into  Scotland  and  \\  ale  .  and  a  tour  upon  the  continent.     In 

.  upon  the  death  ol  Si tuthey,  h<      is  a] ipointed  Poet-1 
His  life  was  a  long  one,  ol  stead}  work  and  much  happiness.     He 
di  d  April  23,  1S50. 

rhe  distinguishing  feature  of  Wordsworth's  poetry  is  well 
forth  in  his  own  word  - : 

"l       moving  a       lenl      not  1      I   idc, 

I    1  in  v  delight,  alone  in  lummei  ihade, 

I 

—  .  //. 


54  WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 

"  Every  great  poet,"  he  said,  "  is  a  teacher ;  I  wish  either  to  be 
considered  as  a  teacher  or  as  nothing." 

And  he  avowed  that  the  purpose  of  his  poetry  was  "  to  console 
the  afflicted;  to  add  sunshine  to  daylight  by  making  the  happy 
happier;  to  teach  the  young  and  the  gracious  of  every  age  to  see,  to 
think  and  feel,  and  therefore  to  become  more  actively  and  securely 
virtuous." 

"  Love  had  he  found  in  huts  where  poor  men  lie, 
His  daily  teachings  had  been  woods  and  rills, 
The  silence  that  is  in  the  starry  sky, 

The  sleep  that  is  among  the  lonely  hills." 

"Wordsworth,"  says  John  Campbell  Shairp,  "was  the  first  who, 
both  in  theory  and  practice,  shook  off  the  trammels  of  the  so-called 
poetic  diction  which  had  tyrannized  over  English  poetry  for  more 
than  a  century.  This  dictien  of  course  exactly  represented  the 
half-courtly,  half-classical  mode  of  thinking  and  feeling.  As  Words- 
worth rebelled  against  this  conventionality  of  spirit,  so  against  the 
outward  expression  of  it.  The  whole  of  the  stock  phrases  and 
used-up  metaphors  he  discarded,  and  returned  to  living  language  of 
natural  feeling,  as  it  is  used  by  men,  instead  of  the  dead  form  of  it 
which  had  got  stereotyped  in  books.  And  just  as  in  his  subjects 
he  had  taken  in  from  the  waste  much  virgin  soil,  so  in  his  diction 
he  appropriated  for  poetic  use  a  large  amount  of  words,  idioms, 
metaphors,  till  then  by  the  poets  disallowed.  His  shorter  poems, 
both  the  earlier  and  the  later,  are,  for  the  most  part,  very  models  of 
natural,  powerful,  and  yet  sensitive  English  ;  the  language  being, 
like  a  garment,  woven  out  of,  and  transparent  with,  the  thought." 

Other  Poems  to  be  Read  :  We  are  Seven  ;  The  Pet  Lamb  ;  To  a 
Highland  Girl ;  Laodamia ;  Matthew;  The  Fountain;  The  Wishing 
( Jate  ;  To  the  Small  Celandine  ;  "  Three  Years  She  Grew  "  ;  "  She  was  a 
l'hantom  of  Delight  "  ;    At  the  Grave  of  Burns. 

REFERENCES:  Shairp's  Studies  in  Poetry  and  Philosophy,  Hazlitt's 
English  Poets ;  De  Quincey's  Miscellaneous  Works;  Literature  and  Life, 
by  1-:.  P.  Whipple;  Wordsworth  (English  Men  of  Letters),  by  Goldwin 
Smith  ;  Yesterdays  with  Authors,  by  James  T.  fields  ;  Among  My  Books, 
Second  Series,  by  J.  R.  Lowell;  Matthew  Arnold's  Introduction  to  the 
Poems  of  William  Wordsworth. 


Samuel  fta\>lor  Colcriboc. 


-~o>Xc 


CHRISTABEL. 

Part  I. 

Tis  the  middle  of  night  by  the  castle  clock, 
And  the  owls  have  awaken'd  the  crowing  cock, 

Tu  —  whit ! Tu  —  whoo  ! 

And  hark,  again  !  the  crowing  cock, 

I  low  drowsily  it  crew. 

Sir  Leoline,  the  Baron  rich, 

Hath  a  toothless  mastiff  bitch  ; 

From  her  kennel  beneath  the  rock 

She  maketh  answer  to  the  clock, 

Four  for  the  quarters,  and  twelve  for  the  hour; 

Ever  and  aye,  by  shine  and  shower, 

Sixteen  short  howls,  not  over  loud  ; 

Some  say,  she  sees  my  lady's  shroud. 

Is  the  night  chilly  and  dark  ? 

nighl  is  chilly,  hut  not  dark. 
The  thin  gray  l  loud  is  spread  on  high, 

II  COVd  S  hut   not   hides  the  sky. 
The  moon   is  behind,  and  at   I  he   hill  ; 
And  yet  she  looks  both  small  and  dull. 
The  night  is  chill,  tin:  cloud  is  gra 

55 


56  SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 

Tis  a  month  before  the  month  of  May, 
And  the  Spring  comes  slowly  up  this  way. 

The  lovely  lady,  Christabel, 

Whom  her  father  loves  so  well, 

What  makes  her  in  the  wood  so  late, 

A  furlong  from  the  castle  gate  ? 

She  had  dreams  all  yesternight 

Of  her  own  betrothed  knight ; 

Dreams  that  made  her  moan  and  leap 

As  on  her  bed  she  lay  in  sleep  ; 

And  she  in  the  midnight  wood  will  pray 

For  the  weal  of  her  lover  that's  far  away 

She  stole  along,  she  nothing  spoke, 
The  sighs  she  heaved  were  soft  and  low, 
And  naught  was  green  upon  the  oak 
But  moss  and  rarest  mistletoe  : 
She  kneels  beneath  the  huge  oak  tree, 
And  in  silence  prayeth  she. 

The  lady  sprang  up  suddenly, 

The  lovely  lady,  Christabel ! 

It  moaned  as  near  as  near  can  be, 

But  what  it  is  she  cannot  tell.  — 

On  the  other  side  it  seems  to  be 

Of  the  huge,  broad-breasted,  old  oak  tree. 

The  night  is  chill ;  the  forest  bare ; 
Is  it  the  wind  that  moaneth  bleak? 
There  is  not  wind  enough  in  the  air 
To  move  away  the  ringlet  curl 
From  the  lovely  lady's  cheek  — 
There  is  not  wind  enough  to  twirl 


CHRISTABEL.  57 

The  one  red  leaf,  the  last  of  its  clan, 
That  dances  as  often  as  dance  it  can, 
Hanging  so  light,  and  hanging  so  high, 
On  the  topmost  twig  that  looks  up  at  the  sky 

Mush,  beating  heart  of  Christabel! 
Jesu  Maria,  shield  her  well  ! 
She  folded  her  arms  beneath  her  cloak, 
And  stole  to  the  other  side  of  the  oak. 
What  sees  she  there  ? 

There  she  sees  a  damsel  bright, 

Drest  in  a  silken  robe  of  white, 

That  shadowy  in  the  moonlight  shone  : 

The  neck  that  made  that  white  robe  wan, 

I  [er  stately  neck  and  arms  were  bare  ; 

Her  blue-vein'd  feet  unsandal'd  were, 

And  wildly  glitter'd  here  and  there, 

The  gems  entangled  in  her  hair. 

I  ^ness,  'twas  frightful  there  to  see 

A  lady  so  richly  clad  as  she  — 

Beautiful  exceedingly  ! 

"  Mary,  mother,  save  me  now  !  " 

(Said  Christabel,)  "  And  who  art  thou?" 

The  lady  strange  made  answer  meet, 

And  her  voice  was  faint  and  sweet  :  — 

"  Have  pity  on  my  son-  distress, 

I       tree  can  for  weai  iness  : 

Stretch  forth  thy  hand,  and  have  no  feai  !" 

Said  ( 'Ini  itabel,  "  1  [ovi  i  amesl  thou  h<  i 

And  the  lady,  whose  voice  was  fainl  and  iweet, 

hid  thus  pursue  her  answer  meel  :  — 

"  My  sire  is  ol  a  noble  lini 


58  SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 

And  my  name  is  Geraldine  : 
Five  warriors  seized  me  yestermorn, 
Me,  even  me,  a  maid  forlorn  : 
They  choked  my  cries  with  force  and  fright, 
And  tied  me  on  a  palfrey  white. 
The  palfrey  was  as  fleet  as  wind, 
And  they  rode  furiously  behind. 
.They  spurred  amain,  their  steeds  were  white 
And  once  we  cross'd  the  shade  of  night. 
As  sure  as  Heaven  shall  rescue  me, 
I  have  no  thought  what  men  they  be ; 
Nor  do  I  know  how  long  it  is 
(For  I  have  lain  entranced  I  wis) 
Since  one,  the  tallest  of  the  five, 
Took  me  from  the  palfrey's  back, 
A  weary  woman,  scarce  alive. 
Some  mutter'd  words  his  comrades  spoke : 
He  placed  me  underneath  this  oak ; 
He  swore  they  would  return  with  haste ; 
Whither  they  went  I  cannot  tell  — 
I  thought  I  heard,  some  minutes  past, 
Sounds  as  of  a  castle  bell. 
Stretch  forth  thy  hand  "  (thus  ended  she), 
"And  help  a  wretched  maid  to  flee." 

Then  Christabel  stretch'd  forth  her  hand 

And  comforted  fair  Geraldine  : 

"  O  well,  bright  dame  !  may  you  command 

The  service  of  Sir  Leoline  ; 

And  gladly  our  stout  chivalry 

Will  he  send  forth  and  friends  withal 

To  guide  and  guard  you  safe  and  free 

Home  to  your  noble  father's  hall." 


CHRISTABEL.  59 

She  rose :  and  forth  with  steps  they  pass'd 

That  strove  to  be,  and  were  not,  fast. 

I  Ier  gracious  stars  the  lady  blest, 

And  thus  spake  on  sweet  Christabcl : 

"  All  our  household  are  at  rest, 

The  hall  is  silent  as  the  cell ; 

Sir  Leoline  is  weak  in  health, 

And  may  not  well  awaken'd  be, 

But  we  will  move  as  if  in  stealth, 

And  I  beseech  your  courtesy, 

This  night,  to  share  your  couch  with  me." 

They  cross'd  the  moat,  and  Christabcl 

Took  the  key  that  fitted  well ; 

A  little  door  she  open'd  straight, 

All  in  the  middle  of  the  gate  ; 

The  gate  that  was  iron'd  within  and  without, 

Where  an  army  in  battle  array  had  march'd  out. 

The  lady  sank,  belike  through  pain, 

And  Christabel  with  might  and  main 

Lifted  her  up,  a  weary  weight, 

(  )ver  the  threshold  of  the  gate  : 

Then  the  lady  rose  again, 

And  moved,  as  she  were  not  in  pain. 

So  free  from  danger,  free  from  fear, 

They  cross'd  the  court  :  right  glad  they  were. 

And  '  Ihristabel  devoutly  cried 

'I  o  the  lady  by  her  side  ; 

"  Praise  we  the  Virgin  all  divine 

Who  hath  rescued  thee  from  thy  distress ! " 

"  Alas,  alas  !  "  said   (  ",«-i  aldin<\ 

"  I  cannot  speak  foi  weai  iness." 


60  SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 

So  free  from  danger,  free  from  fear, 

They  cross'd  the  court :  right  glad  they  were. 

Outside  her  kennel  the  mastiff  old 
Lay  fast  asleep,  in  moonshine  cold. 
The  mastiff  old  did  not  awake, 
Yet  she  an  angry  moan  did  make ! 
And  what  can  ail  the  mastiff  bitch  ? 
Never  till  now  she  utter'd  yell 
Beneath  the  eye  of  Christabel. 
Perhaps  it  is  the  owlet's  scritch  : 
For  what  can  ail  the  mastiff  bitch  ? 

They  pass'd  the  hall,  that  echoes  still, 

Pass  as  lightly  as  you  will ! 

The  brands  were  flat,  the  brands  were  clyinj.,, 

Amid  their  own  white  ashes  lying; 

But  when  the  lady  pass'd,  there  came 

A  tongue  of  light,  a  fit  of  flame  ; 

And  Christabel  saw  the  lady's  eye, 

And  nothing  else  saw  she  thereby, 

Save  the  boss  of  the  shield  of  Sir  Leoline  tall, 

Which  hung  in  a  murky  old  niche  in  the  wall. 

"  O  softly  tread,"  said  Christabel, 

"  My  father  seldom  sleepeth  well." 

Sweet  Christabel  her  feet  both  bare, 
And,  jealous  of  the  listening  air, 
They  steal  their  way  from  stair  to  stair, 
Now  in  glimmer,  and  now  in  gloom, 
And  now  they  pass  the  Baron's  room, 
And  still  as  death,  with  stifled  breath  ! 
And  now  have  reach'd  her  chamber  door; 


CHRISTABEL.  61 

And  now  doth  Geraldine  press  clown 
The  rushes  of  the  chamber  floor. 

The  moon  shines  dim  in  the  open  air, 
And  not  a  moonbeam  enters  here. 
But  they  without  its  light  can  see 
The  chamber  carved  so  curiously, 
Carved  with  figures  strange  and  sweet, 
All  made  out  of  the  carver's  brain, 
For  a  lady's  chamber  meet : 
The  lamp  with  twofold  silver  chain 
Is  fasten'd  to  an  angel's  feet. 

The  silver  lamp  burns  dead  and  dim  ; 

Hut  Christabel  the  lamp  will  trim. 

She  trimm'd  the  lamp,  and  made  it  bright, 

And  left  it  swinging  to  and  fro, 

While  Geraldine,  in  wretched  plight, 

Sank  down  upon  the  floor  below. 

"  O  wear\-  lady,  ( ieraldine, 
I  pray  you,  drink  this  cordial  wine  ! 
It  is  a  wine  of  virtuous  powers  ; 
My  mother  made  it  of  wild  flowers." 

"  And  will  your  mother  pity  me, 
Who  am  a  maiden  most  forlorn  ? " 
Christabel  answered      "Woe  is  i 
She  died  t he  hour  that  I  was  born. 
I  have  heard  the  gray-hair'd  friar  tell, 
I  low  on  her  death  bed  she  did  say, 
'I'h  i'  hould  hear  the  i  a  tie  bell 

Strike  twelve  upon  my  wedding  day. 
< )  mother  dear !  thai  thou  werl  hen 
"  I  would,"  said  ( ieraldine,  "  sh  :  wei 


62  SAMUEL    TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 

But  soon  with  altered  voice,  said  she  — 
"  Off,  wandering  mother  !     Peak  and  pine  ! 
I  have  power  to  bid  thee  flee." 
Alas  !  what  ails  poor  Geraldine  ? 
Why  stares  she  with  unsettled  eye  ? 
Can  she  the  bodiless  dead  espy  ? 
And  why  with  hollow  voice  cries  she, 
"  Off,  woman,  off  !  this  hour  is  mine  — 
Though  thou  her  guardian  spirit  be, 
Off,  woman,  off  !  'tis  given  to  me." 

Then  Christabel  knelt  by  the  lady's  side, 
And  raised  to  heaven  her  eyes  so  blue  — 
"Alas  ! "  said  she,  "  this  ghastly  ride  — 
Dear  lady  !  it  hath  wilder'd  you  !  " 
The  lady  wiped  her  moist  cold  brow, 
And  faintly  said,  "  'Tis  over  now  !  " 

Again  the  wild-flower  wine  she  drank  : 
Her  fair  large  eyes  'gan  glitter  bright, 
And  from  the  floor  whereon  she  sank, 
The  lofty  lady  stood  upright : 
She  was  most  beautiful  to  see, 
Like  a  lady  of  a  far  countree. 

And  thus  the  lofty  lady  spake  — 
"All  they  who  live  in  the  upper  sky, 
Do  love  you,  holy  Christabel ! 
And  you  love  them,  and  for  their  sake 
And  for  the  good  which  me  befell, 
Even  I  in  my  degree  will  try, 
Fair  maiden,  to  requite  you  well. 
But  now  unrobe  yourself ;  for  I 
Must  pray,  ere  yet  in  bed  I  lie." 


CHRISTABEL. 

Quoth  Christabel,  "  So  let  it  be  !  " 
And  as  the  lady  bade,  did  she. 
Her  gentle  limbs  did  she  undress, 
And  lay  down  in  her  loveliness. 

But  through  her  brain  of  weal  and  woe 
So  many  thoughts  move  to  and  fro, 
That  vain  it  were  her  lids  to  close  ; 
So  hall-way  from  the  bed  she  rose, 
And  on  her  elbow  did  recline 
To  look  at  the  lady  Geraldine. 

Beneath  the  lamp  the  lad)  bow'd, 
And  slowly  roll'd  her  eyes  around; 
Then  drawing  in  her  breath  aloud 
Like  one  that  shudder'd,  she  unbound 
The  cincture  from  beneath  her  breast ; 
Her  silken  robe  and  inner  vest, 
Dropt  to  her  feet,  and  full  in  view, 
Behold  !    her  bosom  and  hall  her  side — 
A  sight  to  dream  of,  not  to  tell  ! 
I )  shield  her!  shield  sweet  Christabel. 

^  '■'  Geraldine  nor  speaks  nor  stirs; 
Ah  !  wh.it  a  stricken  look  was  hers ! 
Deep  from  within  seems  half-wa) 
I o  lilt  jome  weighl  with  sick  as 
And  the  maid  and  seeks  del 

Then  suddenly  as  on,-  ,|,  fied 

'  i  herseli  in  -  orn  and  pride, 
And  lay  down  by  the  maiden's  side  ' 
And  in  Iff  arms  the  maid  she  took, 
Ah,  well  .1  day  ! 


63 


64  SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 

And  with  low  voice  and  doleful  look 

These  words  did  say : 
"  In  the  touch  of  this  bosom  there  worketh  a  spell 
Which  is  lord  of  thy  utterance,  Christabel  ! 
Thou  knowest  to-night,  and  wilt  know  to-morrow 
This  mark  of  my  shame,  this  seal  of  my  sorrow; 
But  vainly  thou  warrest, 

For  this  is  alone  in 
Thy  power  to  declare, 

That  in  the  dim  forest 
Thou  heardest  a  low  moaning, 
And  foundest  a  bright  lady,  surpassingly  fair : 
And  didst  bring  her  home  with  thee  in  love  and  in 

charity, 
To  shield  her  and  shelter  her  from  the  damp  air." 


NOTES. 

The  first  part  of  the  unfinished  poem,  "  Christabel,"  was  written  in  1797, 
the  second  part  which,  however,  left  the  story  apparently  as  incomplete  as 
before,  in  1808.  The  two  parts  were  Inst  published  in  1816.  The  poem  is 
a  picture  of  white  innocence,  purity,  and  truth,  pursued  and  persecuted  by 
the  powers  of  evil.  Its  incompleteness  seems  to  enhance  its  interest. 
"Completion  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  lessen  its  reality,  for  the  reader 
could  not  have  endured,  neither  could  the  poet's  own  theory  have  endured, 
the  sacrifice  of  Christabel,  the  triumph  of  evil  over  good;  and  had  she 
triumphed,  there  is  a  vulgar  well-being  in  victory  which  has  nothing  to  do 
with  such  a  strain.1' 

"Such  is  the  unfinished  and  unfinishable  tale  of  Christabel  — a  poem 
which,  despite  its  broken  notes  and  over  brevity,  has  raised  its  author  to 
the  highest  rank  of  poets,  and  which  in  itself  is  at  once  one  of  the  sweet- 
est, loftiest,  must  spiritual  utterances  that  has  ever  been  framed  in  English 
w.,n1s.  We  know  of  no  existing  poem  in  any  language  to  which  we  can 
compare  it.  It  stands  by  itself  exquisite,  celestial,  ethereal,  — a  song  of 
the  spheres,  —  yet  full  of  such  pathos  and  tenderness  and  sorrowful  beauty 
as  only  humanity  can  give."  —  Blackwood's  Magazine,  1871. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE.  65 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  "Christabel"  was  the  immediate  inspiration  of 
Scott's  "Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel."  "It  is  to  Mr.  Coleridge,"  says  Sir 
Walter,  "  that  I  am  bound  to  make  the  acknowledgment  due  from  the 
pupil  to  his  master."  "  l!ut  certainly,"  says  Hales,  "Scott  himself  never 
succeeded  in  surrounding  any  one  of  his  works  with  so  line  an  atmosphere 
of  glamour  and  romance." 

The  language  and  metrical  arrangement  of  this  poem  are  not  only 
peculiar  but  are  in  full  accord  with  the  weird  and  fantastic  conception  of 
the  piece  as  a  whole.  The  versification  is  based  upon  a  principle  not 
commonly  practised  —  that  of  counting  the  number  of  accentuated  words 
in  a  line  instead  of  the  number  of  syllables.  Though  the  latter  varies 
from  seven  to  twelve,  yet  in  each  line  the  accents  never  exceed  four.  The 
result  is  an  irregular,  but  strangely  beautiful  harmony  of  a  kind  that  can 
hardly  be  attained  through  the  ordinary  methods  of  versification. 

This  poem  is  to  be  studied  for  its  exquisite  beauty,  for  the  true  poetic 
qualities  which  it  possesses  and  which  distinguish  it  from  mere  verse. 
Hence,  no  explanatory  notes  are  given  with  reference  to  any  particular 
passage,  nor  is  it  desirable  that  it  should  be  analyzed  with  a  view  to 
grammatical  or  philological  study.  It  should  be  read  and  reread  until 
the  student  is  thoroughly  in  accord  with  the  poetic  spirit  which  breathes 
in  and  vivifies  the  entire  production.  "It  was  indolence,  no  doubt,  that 
left  the  tale  half  told  —  indolence  and  misery  —  and  a  poetic  instinct  higher 
than  all  the  better  impulses  of  industry  ami  virtuous  gain.  The  subject  by 
ry  nature  was  incomplete;  it  had  to  be  left  a  lovely,  weird  suggestion 
—  a  vision  for  every  eye  that  could  see." 


•:«:■  • 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

Samuel  Tayloh  Coleridgi    was  born  at  Ottery  Sainl  Mary, 

bei   21,  1772.     lb-  was  educated  at  Christ's  Hospital  and  at 

1  ollege,  Cambridge.     Al  tin-  age  of  twent)  two  be  hit  the 

University  without   having  taken  a  degree.     He  was  an   intimate 

friend  ol  Charles  Lamb  and  Southey,  and  with  tin-  lattei   Formed  a 

wild  scheme  foi  the  t idingol  a  "  1  1  State"  in  America, 

which,  however,  was  joon  abandoned.     Mis  first   I k  ol   i- 

was  published  in  1794.     In  1796  he  and  <  harles  lamb  published  a 
volume  of  po<  1 !'  ■  ame  at  quainted 

with    \\'.  I,,  ;,),,]    j„    1798   the    two   brought    OUt    tbrii    famous 

volume  oi  Lyrical  Ballads,  containing 


66  SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 

pieces  and  Coleridge's  "Ancient  Mariner."  "  Christabel,"  after 
lying  in  manuscript  for  several  years,  was  published  in  1816,  three 
editions  being  issued  within  twelve  months.  Coleridge's  chief 
poems  were  published  in  181 7  in  a  collection  entitled  Sibylline 
Leaves,  so  called,  he  says,  "  in  allusion  to  the  fragmentary  and 
wildly  scattered  state  in  which  they  had  long  been  suffered  to 
remain."  At  about  the  same  time  he  was  received  into  the  house 
of  Mr.  Gillman,  a  surgeon  residing  at  Highgate,  in  order  to  be 
cured  if  possible  of  his  excessive  use  of  opium.  Here  he  produced 
his  more  important  prose  works,  Aids  to  Reflection,  and  On  the 
Constitution  of  Church  and  State;  and  here  he  died,  July  25,  1834. 

Coleridge  was  forever  planning  and  designing,  —  beginning  a 
work  and  leaving  its  completion  until  to-morrow  —  which  never 
came.  He  devoted  his  attention  only  sparingly  to  poetry  —  and 
that  chiefly  during  his  youth.  Later  in  life  he  was  occupied  with 
political,  social,  and  religious  questions.  "  He  was  a  living  Hamlet, 
full  of  the  most  splendid  thoughts  and  the  noblest  purposes,  but 
a  most  incompetent  doer."  '-His  mind,"  wrote  Southey,  "is  a 
perpetual  St.  Vitus's  dance  —  eternal  activity  without  action." 

"  Of  Coleridge's  best  verses,"  says  Swinburne,  "  I  venture  to 
affirm  that  the  world  has  nothing  like  them,  and  can  never  have ; 
that  they  are  of  the  highest  kind,  and  of  their  own.  They  are 
jewels  of  the  diamond's  price,  flowers  of  the  rose's  rank,  but  unlike 
any  rose  or  diamond  known." 

"  His  best  work  is  but  little,"  says  Stopford  Brooke,  "but  of  its 
kind  it  is  perfect  and  unique.  .  .  .  All  that  he  did  excellently 
might  be  bound  up  in  twenty  pages,  but  it  should  be  bound  in  pure 
gold." 

Other  Poems  to  be  Read  :  The  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner;  Hymn 
before  Sunrise  in  the  Vale  of  Chamouni;    Ode  to  France;   Genevieve. 

REFERENCES:  Swinburne's  Studies  and  Essays;  Shairp's  Studies  in 
Poetry;  Carlyle's  Reminiscences ;  Coleridge's  Biographia  Literaria ; 
De  Quincey's  Essays ;  Coleridge  (English  Men  of  Letters),  by  II.  D.  Traill; 
Hazlitt's  English  Poets;  Hunt's  Imagination  and  Fancy;  Chorley's  Authors 
of  England ;  Walter  Pater's  Apprecia. 


pcrc\>  Bpssfoe  SbcIIcj>. 


-*oXXc 


TO    A    SKYLARK. 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit! 

Bird  thou  never  wert, 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it, 
I '"lire st  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse1  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

Higher  still,  and  higher, 

From  the  earth  thou  springest 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire  ; 

The  deep  blue  thou  wingest,2 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever  singest 

In  the  golden  lightning 

Of  the  sunken  sun," 
O'er  which  clouds  are  brightening, 

Thou  dost  llo.it  and  run, 
Like  an  unbodied  joy  whoi  e  ra<  e  is  just  begun. 

'I  he  pale  purple  even 
Melts  around  th)  flighl  ; 

Lil.         '  ir  ol  heaven, 
In  the  broad  da)  lighl 

Thou  art  ii,  bul  yel  1  he  li  thy  shrill  d<  li  , h t . 


6S  PERCY  BYSSHE   SHELLEY. 

m 

Keen  as  are  the  arrows 
Of  that  silver  sphere, 
Whose  intense  lamp  narrows 
In  the  white  dawn  clear, 
Until  we  hardly  see,  we  feel  that  it  is  there. 

All  the  earth  and  air 

With  thy  voice  is  loud, 
As,  when  night  is  bare, 

From  one  lonely  cloud 
The  moon  rains4  out  her  beams,  and  heaven  is  overflowed. 

What  thou  art  we  know  not ;  — 

What  is  most  like  thee  ? 
From  rainbow  clouds  there  flow  not 
Drops  so  bright  to  see, 
As  from  thy  presence  showers  a  rain  of  melody. 

Like  a  poet  hidden 

In  the  light  of  thought, 
Singing  hymns  unbidden, 

Till  the  world  is  wrought5 
To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it  heeded  not : 

Like  a  high-born  maiden 

In  a  palace  tower, 
Soothing  her  love-laden 

Soul  in  secret  hour 
With  music  sweet  as  love,  which  overflows  her  bower : 

Like  a  glow-worm  golden 

In  a  dell  of  dew, 
Scattering  unbeholden 
Its  aerial  hue 
Among  the  flowers  and  grass,  which  screen  it  from  the 
view. 


TO   A    SKYLARK.  69 

Like  a  rose  embowered 

In  its  own  green  leaves, 
By  warm  winds  deflowered, 
Till  the  scent  it  gives 
Makes  faint  with  too  much  sweet  these  heavy-winged 
thieves. 

Sound  of  vernal  showers 

On  the  twinkling  grass, 
Rain-awakened  flowers, 

All  that  ever  was 
Joyous,  and  clear,  and  fresh,  thy  music  doth  surpass. 

Teach  us,  sprite6  or  bird, 

What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine: 

I  have  never  heard 
Praise  of  love  or  wine 
That  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine. 

Chorus  hymeneal," 

Or  triumphal  chaunt, 
Matched  with  thine  would  be  all 
But  an  empty  vaunt  — 
A  thing  wherein  we  feel  there  is  some  hidden  want. 

What  objects  are  the  fountains 

Of  thy  happy  strain  ? 
What  fields,  or  waves,  or  mountains? 

What   shapes  ol   sky  or  plain  ? 
What  love  of  thine  own  kind?   wli.il  ignorance  ol    pain5 

With  thy  i  lear  keen  joyam  e 
Langoui  i  annol  I"- : 

Shadow  oi  annoyai 
Never  i  am'-  neai  thee  : 

Thou  Invest;    hut   ne'er  knew  love's  sad  satiet 


70  PERCY  BY  SSI  IE   SHELLEY. 

Waking  or  asleep ; 

Thou  of  death  must  deem 
Things  more  true  and  deep 

Than  we  mortals  dream  — 
Oh  how  could  thy  notes  flow  in  such  a  crystal  stream  ? 

We  look  before  and  after, 
And  pine  for  what  is  not : 8 

Our  sincerest  laughter 

With  some  pain  is  fraught : 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest  thought. 

Yet  if  we  could  scorn 

Hate,  and  pride,  and  fear ; 

If  we  were  things  born 

Not  to  shed  a  tear, 

I  know  not  how  thy  joy  we  ever  should  come  near. 

Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delight  and  sound, 
Better  than  all  treasures 

That  in  books  are  found, 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scorner  of  the  ground ! 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know, 
Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow, 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening  now. 


NOTES. 

This  is  perhaps  the  most  perfect  lyric  of  its  kind  in  the  English  lan- 
guage. Every  verse  is  worthy  of  careful  study,  and  it  should  be  read  and 
reread  until  its  exquisite  melody  is  felt  and  the  subtle  thoughts  which  it 


HYMN   OF  PAX.  71 

embodies  fully  understood.  Yet  there  is  little  in  the  poem  which  requires 
annotation —  the  lark's  sung  itself  admits  of  no  explanation. 

"  For  sweetness  the  '  Ode  to  a  Skylark  '  is  inferior  only  to  Coleridge, 
in  rapturous  passion  to  no  man.  It  is  like  the  bird,  it  sings,  —  enthusi- 
astic, enchanting,  profuse,  continuous,  ami  alone,  —  small,  but  filling  the 
heavens."'  —  Leigh  Hunt. 

"  Has  any  one,  since  Shakespeare  and  Spenser,  lighted  on  such  tender 
and  such  grand  ecstasies?" —  Taint. 

The  skylark  is  very  generally  distributed  over  the  northern  portions  of 
the  Old  World,  but  is  not  found  in  America.  Its  song  in  the  morning  may 
often  be  heard  when  the  bird  is  so  high  as  to  be  entirely  out  of  sight, 
ail  .\lthough  not  finely  modulated  is  remarkably  cheerful  and  prolonged. 
A  person  who  is  accustomed  to  the  song  can  tell  by  its  variations  whether 
it  be  ascending,  stationary,  or  descending. 

i.  profuse.  Accent  here  on  the  first  syllable.  From  Lat.  pro/undo, 
to  pour  forth. 

2.  Explain  the  figures  of  rhetoric  employed  in  this  line.  The  meaning 
of  blue  ;  of  wingest. 

3.  sunken  sun.  The  sun  is  not  yet  above  the  horizon,  but  the  bird 
has  risen  so  high  that  it  is  visible  to  him,  and  he  "  floats  and  runs"  in  its 
golden  light. 

4.  What  is  the  meaning  of  rains?  of  rain  in  the  next  stanza? 

5.  wrought.     Influenced.     A.-S.  worhte,  wyrcan,  to  work. 

6.  sprite.  Spirit.  In  the  hrst  stanza  he  calls  the  lark  a  spirit  and 
says  it  never  was  a  bird;    lure  he  calls  it  "bird  or  sprite." 

7.  Chorus  hymeneal.     See  note  on  "  Prothalamion,"  page  241. 

8.  Compare  this  thought  with  the  ideas  contained  in  Wordsworth's 
"  <  1  li  Intimations  of  I lortalil 

pine,  from  A.-S.  pinan,  to  pain.  <  hir  word  pain  is  derived  from 
the  same  1 


HYMN    OF    PAN. 

From  the  t":  tnd  highlands 

We  '  ome,  we  i  omi 
F  rom  tin-  river  -Hit  islands, 
Where  loud  waves  are  dumb 
Listening  to  my  sweel  pipings. 


72  PERCY  BYSSHE   SHELLEY. 

The  wind  in  the  reeds  and  the  rushes, 

The  bees  on  the  bells  of  thyme, 
The  birds  on  the  myrtle-bushes, 
The  cicale  above  in  the  lime, 
And  the  lizards  below  in  the  grass, 
Were  as  silent  as  ever  old  Tmolus1  was, 
Listening  to  my  sweet  pipings. 

Liquid  Peneus2  was  flowing, 

And  all  dark  Tempe  lay 
In  Pelion's  shadow,  outgrowing 

The  light  of  the  dying  day, 
Speeded  by  my  sweet  pipings. 

The  Sileni3  and  Sylvans  and  Fauns, 

And  the  Nymphs  of  the  woods  and  waves, 
To  the  edge  of  the  moist  river-lawns, 
And  the  brink  of  the  dewy  caves, 
And  all  that  did  then  attend  and  follow, 
Were  silent  with  love,  —  as  you  now,  Apollo,4 
With  envy  of  my  sweet  pipings. 

I  sang  of  the  dancing  stars, 

I  sang  of  the  daedal5  earth, 
And  of  heaven,  and  the  Giant  wars,6 

And  love,  and  death,  and  birth, 
And  then  I  changed  my  pipings, — 
Singing  how  down  the  vale  of  Maenalus 

I  pursued  a  maiden,"  and  clasped  a  reed : 
Gods  and  men,  we  are  all  deluded  thus ; 

It  breaks  in  our  bosom,  and  then  we  bleed. 
All  wept  —  as  I  think  both  ye  now  would, 
If  envy  or  age  had  not  frozen  your  blood  — 
At  the  sorrow  of  my  sweet  pipings. 


HYMN   OF  PAN.  73 


NOTES. 

Pan,  as  described  in  the  Homeric  hymns,  is  "  lord  of  all  the  hills  and 
dales" :  sometimes  he  ranges  along  the  tops  of  the  mountains;  sometimes 
pursues  the  game  in  the  valleys,  roams  through  the  woods,  or  floats  along 
the  streams;  or  drives  his  sheep  into  a  cave,  and  there  plays  on  his  reeds 
music  not  to  be  excelled  by  that  of  the  sweetest  singing  birds;   and 

"  With  him  the  clear-singing  mountain-nymphs 
Move  quick  their  feet,  by  the  dark-watered  spring 
In  the  soft  mead,  where  crocus,  hyacinths, 
Fragrant  and  blooming,  mingle  with  the  grass 
Confused,  and  sing,  while  echo  peals  around 
The  mountain's  top." 

Keats,  in  "Endymion,"  thus  apostrophizes  Pan: 

"  O  Hearkener  to  the  loud  clapping  shears, 
While  ever  and  anon  to  his  shorn  peers 
A  ram  goes  bleating :  Winder  of  the  horn, 
When  snouted  wild-boars  routing  tender  corn 
Anger  our  huntsmen  :   Breather  round  our  farms. 
To  keep  off  mildews,  and  all  weather  harms: 
Strange  ministrant  of  undescribed  sounds, 
That  come  a-swooning  over  hollow  grounds, 
And  wither  drearily  on  barren  moors: 
Dread  opener  of  the  mysterious  doors 
I      iding  to  universal  knowledge  —  see, 
Great    on  of  Dryope, 

The  many  that  are  come  to  pay  their  vows 
With  leaves  about  their  brows!  " 

1.  Tmolus.     tt  was  Tmolus  whi  is  umpire  in  the  musical) 

•  between  Pan  and  Apollo.    This  contest  is  din  rred  to  through- 

out this  poem. 

2.  Peneus.  Tl  rivet  ol  Thessaly.  II  flows  through  the  Vale 
of  Tempe,  and  betwi  mountaii  and  Pelion,  emptying  finally 
into  the  Aegean  Sea.     (See  map 

3.  Sileni.  A  name  applied  to  tie-  oldi  They  were  fond  ol 
wine  and  of  every  kind  •■!  sensual  pleasure,  and  hence  represented  tie- 
luxuriant   powers  of   nature,  and    w              inected   with  the  woi 

Ba  1  hus. 

Sylvans.      I  ol  thi   te  1  ;-   in  i  :   1 

Faun3.     Gods  of  the  shepherds,  flocks,  and  fields.      V  faun  islly 

represented   as  half  man  and  half  : 


74  PERCY  BYSSIIE   SHELLEY. 

4.  Apollo.  One  of  the  chief  divinities  of  the  Greeks ;  the  god  of  music 
and  song,  of  prophecy,  of  the  (locks  and  herds,  of  the  founding  of  towns, 
and  of  the  sun.  He  was  the  son  of  Zeus  and  Leto,  and  was  born  on  the 
island  of  Delos.     His  favorite  oracle  was  at  Delphi. 

5.  daedal.  Labyrinthine,  wonderful.  From  Daedalus,  a  famous  Athe- 
nian architect,  who  designed  the  labyrinth  at  Crete  in  which  the  Minotaur 
was  kept. 

6.  Giant  wars.  The  wars  of  the  Titans,  —  the  contest  in  which  Zeus 
overcame  and  deposed  his  father,  Chronos,  and  made  himself  supreme 
ruler  of  the  universe.  The  Titans,  who  were  opposed  to  him,  were  over- 
come, and  hurled  into  the  lowest  depths  of  Tartarus. 

Maenalus.  A  mountain  in  Arcadia,  celebrated  as  the  favorite  haunt 
of  Pan. 

7.  maiden.  Syrinx,  a  nymph  of  Arcadia,  devoted  to  the  service  of 
Artemis.  "As  she  was  returning  one  day  from  the  chase,  Pan  saw  and 
loved  her;  but  when  he  would  address  her,  she  fled.  The  god  pursued. 
She  reached  the  river  Ladon,  and,  unable  to  cross  it,  implored  the  aid  of 
her  sister  nymphs;  and  when  Pan  thought  to  grasp  the  object  of  his  pur- 
suit, he  found  his  arms  tilled  with  reeds.  At  that  moment  the  wind  began 
to  agitate  the  reeds  and  produced  a  low  musical  sound.  The  god  took  the 
hint,  cut  seven  of  the  twigs,  and  formed  from  them  his  syrinx,  or  pastoral 
pipe."     See  Ovid's  Metamorphoses. 


-oo\*!S 


FROM    "EPIPSYCHIDION." 

Emily, 
A  ship  is  floating  in  the  harbor  now ; 
A  wind  is  hovering  o'er  the  mountain's  brow; 
There  is  a  path  on  the  sea's  azure  floor,  — 
No  keel  has  ever  ploughed  that  path  before ; 
The  halcyons1  brood  around  the  foamless  isles; 
The  treacherous  ocean  has  forsworn  its  wiles ; 
The  merry  mariners  are  bold  and  free : 
Say,  my  heart's  sister,  wilt  thou  sail  with  me  ? 
Our  bark  is  as  an  albatross  whose  nest 
Is  a  far  Eden  of  the  purple  east ; 


EPIPSYCHIDION.  75 

And  we  between  her  wings  will  sit,  while  Night 

And  Day  and  Storm  and  Calm  pursue  their  Might, 

Our  ministers,  along  the  boundless  sea, 

Treading  each  other's  heels,  unheededly. 

It  is  an  isle  under  Ionian2  skies, 

Beautiful  as  a  wreck  of  paradise ; 

And,  for3  the  harbors  are  not  safe  and  good, 

This  land  would  have  remained  a  solitude 

But  for  some  pastoral  people  native  there, 

Who  from  the  elysian,  clear,  and  golden  air 

Draw  the  last  spirit  of  the  age  of  gold,4  — 

Simple  and  spirited,  innocent  and  bold. 

The  blue  yEgean  girds  this  chosen  home, 

With  ever-changing  sound  and  light  and  foam 

Kissing  the  sifted  sands  and  caverns  hoar; 

And  all  the  winds  wandering  along  the  shore 

Undulate  with  the  undulating  tide 

There  are  thick  woods  where  sylvan  forms  abide; 

And  many  a  fountain,  rivulet,  and  pond, 

As  clear  as  elemental  diamond, 

Or  serene  morning  air.      And  far  beyond, 

The  mossy  tracks  made  by  the  gnats  and  deer 

(Which  the  rough  shepherd  treads bul  once  a  year) 

Pierce  into  glades,  Caverns,  and  bowers,  and  halls 

Built  round  with  ivy,  which  the  waterfalls 
Illumining,  with  sound  thai  never  fails, 
Accompany  the  noonday  nightingales. 
And  all  the  place  is  peopled  with  sweel  airs.® 
The  light  i  lear  elemenl  which  the  isle  wears 
Is  heavy  with  the  scent  oi  lemon  flowers, 
Whit  h  floats  tike  misl  laden  with  unseen  showei  . 
And  falls  upon  the  eyelids  like  faint  sleep; 
And  from  the  moss  violets  and  jonquils  peep, 


76  PERCY  BYSSHE   SHELLEY. 

And  dart  their  arrowy  odor  through  the  brain, 

Till  you  might  faint  with  that  delicious  pain. 

And  every  motion,  odor,  beam,  and  tone, 

With  that  deep  music  is  in  unison: 

Which  is  a  soul  within  the  soul,  —  they  seem 

Like  echoes  of  an  antenatal  dream.6 

It  is  an  isle  'twixt  heaven,  air,  earth,  and  sea, 

Cradled,  and  hung  in  clear  tranquillity ; 

Bright  as  that  wandering  Eden,  Lucifer,7 

Washed  by  the  soft  blue  oceans  of  young  air.8 

It  is  a  favored  place.     Famine  or  blight, 

Pestilence,  war,  and  earthquake,  never  light 

Upon  its  mountain-peaks ;  blind  vultures,  they 

Sail  onward  far  upon  their  fatal  way. 

The  winged  storms,  chaunting  their  thunder-psalm 

To  other  lands,  leave  azure  chasms  of  calm 

Over  this  isle,  or  wee])  themselves  in  dew, 

From  which  its  fields  and  woods  ever  renew 

Their  green  and  golden  immortality. 

And  from  the  sea  there  rise,  and  from  the  sky 

There  fall,  clear  exhalations,  soft  and  bright, 

Veil  after  veil,  each  hiding  some  delight : 

Which  sun  or  moon  or  zephyr  draw  aside, 

Till  the  isle's  beauty,  like  a  naked  bride 

Glowing  at  once  with  love  and  loveliness, 

Blushes  and  trembles  at  its  own  excess. 

Yet,  like  a  buried  lamp,  a  soul  no  less 

Burns  in  the  heart  of  this  delicious  isle, 

An  atom  of  the  Eternal,  whose  own  smile 

Unfolds  itself,  and  may  be  felt  not  seen 

O'er  the  gray  rocks,  blue  waves,  and  forests  green, 

Filling  their  bare  and  void  interstices. 


EPIPSYCHIDION.  77 

This  isle  and  house  are  mine,  and  I  have  vowed 

Thee  to  be  lady  of  the  solitude. 

And  I  have  fitted  up  some  chambers  there 

Looking  towards  the  golden  eastern  air, 

And  level  with  the  living  winds  which  flow 

Like  waves  above  the  living  waves  below. 

I  have  sent  books  and  music  there,  and  all 

Those  instruments  with  which  high  spirits  call 

The  future  from  its  cradle,  and  the  past 

Out  of  its  grave,  and  make  the  present  last 

In  thoughts  and  joys  which  sleep  but  cannot  die, 

Folded  within  their  own  eternity. 

Our  simple  life  wants  little,  and  true  taste 

Hires  not  the  pale  drudge  Luxury  to  waste 

The  scene  it  would  adorn  ;  and  therefore  still 

Nature  with  all  her  children  haunts  the  hill. 

The  ringdove  in  the  embowering  ivy  ye1 

Keeps  up  her  love-lament;  and  the  owls  Hit 

Round  the  evening  tower;  and  the  young  stars  glance 

Between  the  quick  bats  in  their  twilight  dance; 

The  spotted  deer  bask  in  the  fresh  moonlight 

Before  our  gate;  and  the  slow  silent  night 

Is  measured  by  the  pants  of  their  calm  sleep. 

B    'his  our  home  in  life  ;  and,  when  years  heap 

Their  withered  hours  like  leaves  on  our  decay, 

I  ,et  ns  become  the  overhanging  day, 

The  living  soul,  of  this  elysian  isle  — 

<  Conscious,  in  ible,  one.     Meanwhile 

We  two  will  rise  and  sit  and  walk  togethei 

Under  the  roof  of  blue  Ionian  weather; 

And  wander  in  the  meadows ;  or  asi  end 

The  mossy  mountain.,  where  the  blue  heavens  bend 

With  lightesl  v,  ind  5  to  toui  h  then  paramo 


7S  PERCY  BY  SSI  IE   SHELLEY. 

Or  linger  where  the  pebble-paven  shore 

Under  the  quick  faint  kisses  of  the  sea 

Trembles  and  sparkles  as  with  ecstasy  ;  — 

Possessing  and  possessed  by  all  that  is 

Within  that  calm  circumference  of  bliss, 

And  by  each  other,  till  to  love  and  live 

Be  one.  .  .  . 

We  shall  become  the  same,  we  shall  be  one 

Spirit  within  two  frames,  oh  wherefore  two  ? 

One  passion  in  twin  hearts,  which  grows  and  grew 

Till,  like  two  meteors  of  expanding  flame, 

Those  spheres  instinct  with  it  become  the  same, 

Touch,  mingle,  are  transfigured  ;  ever  still 

Burning,  yet  ever  inconsumable  ; 

In  one  another's  substance  finding  food, 

Light  flames  too  pure  and  light  and  unimbued 

To  nourish  their  bright  lives  with  baser  prey, 

Which  point  to  heaven  and  cannot  pass  away  : 

One  hope  within  two  wills,  one  will  beneath 

Two  overshadowing  minds,  one  life,  one  death, 

One  heaven,  one  hell,  one  immortality, 

And  one  annihilation  ! 

Woe  is  me ! 
The  winged  words  on  which  my  soul  would  pierce 
Into  the  height  of  Love's  rare  universe 
Are  chains  of  lead  around  its  flight  of  fire  — 
I  pant,  I  sink,  I  tremble,  I  expire  ! 


NOTES. 


"  A  clever  but  disreputable  professor  at  Pisa  one  day  related  to  Shelley 
the  sad  story  of  a  beautiful  and  noble  lady,  the  Contessina  Emilia  Viviani, 
who  had  been  confined  by  her  father  in  a  dismal  convent  of  the  suburbs, 


EPIPSYCHIDIOX.  79 

to  await  her  marriage  with  a  distasteful  husband."  Shelley,  fired  as  ever 
by  a  tale  of  tyranny,  was  eager  to  visit  the  fair  captive.  The  prof 
accompanied  him  and  Medwin  to  the  convent  parlor,  where  they  found 
her  more  lovely  than  even  the  most  glowing  descriptions  had  led  them 
to  expect.  Nor  was  she  only  beautiful.  Shelley  soon  discovered  that  she 
had  "  cultivated  her  mind  beyond  what  I  have  ever  met  with  in  Italian 
women";  and  a  rhapsody  composed  by  her  upon  the  subject  of  Uranian 
Love —  "II  Vero  Amore  " — justifies  the  belief  that  she  possessed  an 
intellect  of  more  than  ordinary  elevation.  He  took  Mrs.  Shelley  to  see 
her;  and  both  did  all  they  could  to  make  her  convent  prison  less  irksome 
by  frequent  visits,  by  letters,  by  presents  of  flowers  and  books.  It  was  not 
long  before  Shelley's  sympathy  for  this  unfortunate  lady  took  the  form  of 
love,  which,  however  spiritual  and  Platonic,  was  not  the  less  passionate. 
The  result  was  the  composition  of  "  Epipsychidion,"  the  most  unintelligible 
of  all  his  poems  to  those  who  have  not  assimilated  the  spirit  of  Plato's 
Symposium  and  Dante's  Vita  Xuova."  —  J.  A.  Symonds. 

\V.  M.  Rossetti  characterizes  this  poem  as  "a  pure  outpouring  of  poetry; 
a  brimming  and  bubbling  fountain  of  freshness  and  music,  magical  with  its 
own  spray  rainbow 

A  year  after  its  composition,  Shelley  wrote:  "  The  '  Epipsychidion '  I 
cannot  look  at.      If  you  are  curious,  however,  t>.  hear  what  1  am  and  have 
.  it  will  tell  you  something  thereof.      It  is  an  idealized  history  of  my 
life  and  feelings." 

Epipsychidion.  From  <lr.  ept,  upon,  and  psyche,  the  soul.  This  poem 
ie addressed  "to  the  noble  and  unfortunate  Lady  Emilia  Viviani,  now 
imprisoned  in  tin-  <  onvent  of  St.  Anne,  l'isa,"  and  was  written  in  1821. 

1.  halcyons.  Kingfishers,  Hal  yone  was  the  daughter  ..1  Eolus 
and  wife  of  Ceyx.  When  her  husband  died  she  was  changed  into  a  bird, 
—  the  kingfisher,— rand,  floating  over  the  sea,  she  still  calls  for  the  losl 

lull  ..t  pi  lining  and  t<-.w>.       \nd  "  wh<  ■ 
,  law  -I  nature  brings  round  ■•■    I  died  Halcyoi  thei       days 

distinguishable  among  all  others  for  their  serenity." 

2.  Ionian.  Greek.  See  tie-  1  n  "Under  t!"-  rool  >t  blue 
Ionian  weather,"  below,     Explain  it--  meaning. 

3.  for.     ^11 

elysian.     Heavenly.     Pertaining  to  Elysium,  the  islands  "I  tl"    '' 
the  El)  iian  fields. 

4.  age  of  gold.     Compare  Milton, "  Hymn  on  thi  Nativil 
30,  page  1  .  •  a  by  John  Lydgal 

5.  peopled  with  sweet  airs.     Filled  with  »w<  •  t 


SO  PERCY  BYSSHE   SHELLEY. 

6.  antenatal  dream.  See  Wordsworth's  "Ode  on  the  Intimations  of 
Immortality"  (also,  note  13,  page  47). 

"  Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting." 

7.  Lucifer.  Venus  when  seen  in  the  morning,  rising  before  the  sun 
is  called  Lucifer,  the  light-bearer.  From  Lat.  lux,  light,  and  fero,  to 
bear  (see  note  18,  page  189).  The  same  star  when  seen  in  the  evening, 
following  the  sun,  is  called  Hesperus. 

8.  blue  oceans  of  young  air.     Explain. 

9.  paramour.     See  Milton's  "Ode  on  the  Nativity,"  stanza  i. 

"  It  was  no  reason  then  for  her 
To  wanton  with  the  sun,  her  lusty  paramour." 

Milton  makes  the  sun  the  paramour  of  the  earth;    Shelley,  the  earth  the 

paramour  of  the  sky. 

o-o>»ioo 

A    LAMENT. 

Swifter  far  than  summer's  flight, 
Swifter  far  than  youth's  delight, 
Swifter  far  than  happy  night, 

Art  thou  come  and  gone  : 
As  the  earth  when  leaves  are  dead, 
As  the  night  when  sleep  is  sped, 
As  the  heart  when  joy  is  fled, 

I  am  left  alone,  alone. 

The  swallow  Summer  comes  again, 
The  owlet  Night  resumes  her  reign, 
But  the  wild  swan  Youth  is  fain 

To  fly  with  thee,  false  as  thou. 
My  heart  each  day  desires  the  morrow, 
Sleep  itself  is  turned  to  sorrow. 
Vainly  would  my  winter  borrow 

Sunny  leaves  from  any  bough. 

Lilies  for  a  bridal  bed. 
Roses  for  a  matron's  head, 
Violets  for  a  maiden  dead, 

Pansies  let  my  flowers  be : 
On  the  living  grave  I  bear, 
Scatter  them  without  a  tear, 
Let  no  friend,  however  dear. 

Waste  one  hope,  one  fear,  for  me. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   XOTE.  SI 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 


Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  was  born  at  Field  Place,  near  Horsham 
iii  Sussex,  August  4.  1792.  He  was  educated  at  Eton  and  at  ( Oxford. 
While  a  student  at  the  latter  place,  he  wrote  a  pamphlet,  entitled 
The  Necessity  of  Atheism^  which  caused  his  expulsion  from  college. 
This  occurred  in  1811,  and  in  the  same  year  he  married  Harriet 
Westbrook,  from  whom,  three  years  later,  he  separated.  In  1816  he 
married  Mary  Godwin.  In  1818  he  left  England  for  Italy,  where  he 
remained  until  his  death  by  drowning  in  the  gulf  of  Spezia,  July  8, 
1822.  His  fust  considerable  poem,  "Queen  Mab,"  was  published 
in  1813:  "Alastor,  or  the  Spirit  of  Solitude,"'  in  1816;  "The  Revolt 
of  Islam,"  in  1818;  and  " Epipsychidion "  and  uAdonais"  in  1S21. 
His  two  dramas,  the  "Cenci"  and  "Prometheus  Unbound,"  were 
issued,  the  former  in  1S19,  the  latter  in  [821. 

"Shelley's  early  rupture  with  the  English  world,"  says  Hales, 
"lost  him  all  the  advantages  which  a  fuller  experience  of  it  ami  .1 
longer  intercourse  with  it  might  have  given.  That  world  was  no 
less  estranged  from  him  than  he  from  it.  It  misunderstood  and 
misinterpreted  him  throughout  his  career.  It  covered  him  with  its 
Opprobrium.  Assuredly,  he  was  not  the  man  that  world  painted.  It 
by  no  means  follows  that  because  Shelley  did  not  repeat  the  ordi- 
nary creeds,  and  even  mocked  at  them,  that  he  believed  nothing. 
Shelley  was  never  in  his  soul  an  atheist  :  it  was  simply  impossible 
with  his  nature  that  he  should  be;  what  he  did  deny  and  defy  was 
a   deity  whose  worship  seemed,  as  he  saw  the  world,  ((insistent  with 

the  reign  of  selfishness  and  bigotry." 

Lord  Macaulay  says :  "Wedoubl  whethei  an)  modem  poel  has 
d  in  .in  equal  degree  some  ol  the  highest  qualities  ol  the 
great  ancient  masters.  The  words  bard  and  inspiration^  which 
so  (old  and  affected  when  applied  to  other  modern  writers,  have  a 
perfect  propriety  when  applied  to  him.  He  wa  -  not  an  author,  but 
a  bard.  Hi,  poetrj  Beema  not  to  have  been  an  art,  but  an  inspi- 
ration. \\.u\  he  lived  to  the  full  age  ol  man,  he  might  not.  improba- 
bly, have  given  to  the  world  some  great  work  ol  the  verj   big 

rank  in  de   ign  and  exe<  ntioii." 

Leigh  Hunt  sa\  i :  "  Assuredly,  had  he  lived,  he  would  have  1 
the  greatest  dramatu  writei  >in<  e  the  <\.r.    <<f  Elizabeth.    In  gem  raJ, 

il  I  oleridge  is  the  sweet' 


82  PERCY  BYSSHE   SHELLEY. 

ethereal  and  most  gorgeous  —  the  one  who  has  clothed  his  thoughts 
in  draperies  of  the  most  evanescent  and  most  magnificent  words  and 
imager}-.  His  poetry  is  as  full  of  mountains,  seas,  and  skies,  of 
light,  and  darkness,  and  the  seasons,  and  all  the  elements  of  our 
being,  as  if  Nature  herself  had  written  it,  with  the  Creation  and  its 
hopes  newly  cast  around  her,  not,  it  must  he  confessed,  without  too 
indiscriminate  a  mixture  of  great  and  small,  and  a  want  of  sufficient 
shade  —  a  certain  chaotic  brilliancy,  'dark  with  excess  of  light.1" 

Another  English  poet  says:  ■•  Shelley  outsang  all  poets  on  record 
but  some  two  or  three  throughout  all  time;  his  depths  and  heights 
of  inner  and  outer  music  are  as  divine  as  nature's,  and  not  sooner 
exhaustible,  lie  was  alone  the  perfect  singing-god;  his  thoughts, 
words,  deeds,  all  sang  together.11 

•■The  poet  who  creates  a  new  ideal,  and  fills  men's  hearts  with 
the  flame  of  a  divine  desire,  is  a  practical  force  in  the  stream  of 
human  development  —  and  this  Shelley  has  done.  So  much  of  his 
poetry  is  full  of  the  tender  melancholy  of  the  moonlight  he  loved, 
that  the  world  is  still  half  blind  to  his  highest  bardic  character,  as 
the  poet  of  a  spiritual  dawn,  the  eager  spirit  who  flies  forward  — 

"Calling  the  lapsed  soul, 
And  weeping  in  the  morning  dew." 

Even  his  moonlight  seems  to  reflect  the  beams  of  some  unrisen 
sun  :  and  his  sunlight  has  all  the  ethereal  exhilaration  of  that  of  the 
first  hours  of  a  glorious  day." —  John  Todhunter. 

Other  Poems  to  be  Read:  Adonais;  The  Sensitive  riant;  The  Cloud; 
Mount  Blanc;  To  Wordsworth;  The  Euganean  Hills;  Liberty;  Alastor; 
Prometheus  Unbound. 

REFERENCES:  He  Quincey's  Essays;  Jeaffreson's  The  Real  Shelley; 
Shelley  (English  Men  of  Letters),  by  J.  A.  Symonds;  Leigh  Hunt's  Imagi- 
nation and  Fancy  ;  Rossetti's  Memoir  of  Shelley  ;  Dowden's  life  of  P.  B. 
Shelley;  Moore's  Life  of  lord  Byron  ;  Middleton's  Shelley  and  his  Writ- 
ings; Medwin's  Life  of  Shelley ;  Trelawney's  Recollections  of  the  Last  Days 
of  Shelley  and  Byron  ;  Todhunter's  Shelley:  A  Study. 


3obn  Ikeate. 

ODE   TO    A    NIGHTINGALE. 


My  heart  aches,  and  a  drowsy  numbness  pains 

My  sense,  as  though  of  hemlock  I  had  drunk, 
Or  emptied  some  dull  opiate  to  the  chains 

One  minute  past,  and  Lethe- wards ]  had  sunk: 
'Tis  not  through  envy  of  thy  happy  lot, 
Hut  being  too  happy  in  thy  happiness, — 
That  thou,  light-winged  Dryad-  of  the  trees, 
In  some  melodious  plot 
Of  beechen  green,  and  shadows  numberless, 
Singest  of  summer  in  I  nil-throated  ease. 

ii. 

0  for  a  draught  of  vintage,  thai  hath  been 

Cooled  a  long  age  in  the  deep-delved  earth, 
Tasting  of  Flora  and  the  countr)  green, 

Dam  e,  and  Provencal  song,8  and  sun-burnl  mirth! 
< )  for  .i  beaker  full  ol  the  warm  South, 
Full  of  the  true,  the  blushful  I  [ippoi  ion,1 
With  beaded  bubbles  winking  al  the  brim, 
And  purple  stained  moul h  ; 
Thai  I  mighl  drink,  and  leave  the  world  unseen, 
And  with  thee  fade  away  into  the  fori    t  dim  : 


64  J01JX  KEATS. 


III. 

Fade  far  away,  dissolve,  and  quite  forget 

What  thou  anions  the  leaves  hast  never  known, 
The  weariness,  the  fever,  and  the  fret 

Here,  where  men  sit  and  hear  each  other  groan; 
Where  palsy  shakes  a  few,  sad,  last  gray  hairs, 

Where  youth  grows  pale,  and  spectre-thin,  and  dies 
Where  but  to  think  is  to  be  full  of  sorrow 
And  leaden-eyed  despairs ; 
Where  Beauty  cannot  keep  her  lustrous  eyes, 
Or  new  Love  pine  at  them  beyond  to-morrow. 

IV. 

Away  !  away  !  for  I  will  fly  to  thee, 

Not  charioted  by  Bacchus  and  his  pards,5 
But  on  the  viewless  wings  of  Poesy, 

Though  the  dull  brain  perplexes  and  retards : 
Already  with  thee !  tender  is  the  night, 

And  haply  the  Queen-Moon  is  on  her  throne, 
Clustered  around  by  all  her  starry  Fays ; 
But  here  there  is  no  light, 
Save  what  from  heaven  is  with  the  breezes  blown 
Through  verdurous  glooms  and  winding  mossy  ways. 

v. 

I  cannot  see  what  flowers  are  at  my  feet, 

Nor  what  soft  incense  hangs  upon  the  boughs, 

But,  in  embalmed  darkness,  guess  each  sweet 
Wherewith  the  seasonable  month  endows 

The  grass,  the  thicket,  and  the  fruit-tree  wild ; 
White  hawthorn,  and  the  pastoral  eglantine;6 


ODE    TO  A   NIGHTINGALE.  85 

Fast-fading  violets  covered  up  in  loaves; 
And  mid-May's  eldest  child, 
The  coming  musk-rose,  full  of  dewy  wine, 

The  murmurous  haunt  of  flies  on  summer  eves. 

VI. 

Darkling"  I  listen  ;  and  for  many  a  time 

I  have  been  half  in  love  with  easeful  Death, 
Called  him  soft  names  in  many  a  mused  rhyme, 

To  take  into  the  air  my  quiet  breath  ; 
Now  more  than  ever  seems  it  rich  to  die, 
To  cease  upon  the  midnight  with  no  pain, 
While  thou  art  pouring  forth  thy  soul  abroad 
In  such  an  ecstasy  ! 
Still  wouldst  thou  sing,  and  I  have  ears  in  vain  — 
To  thy  high  requiem8  become  a  sod. 

VII. 

Thou  wast  not  born  for  death,  immortal  Bird! 

No  hungry  generations  tread  thee  down  ; 
The  voice  I  hear  this  passing  night  was  heard 

In  an<  ienl  days  l>v  emperor  and  clown  : 
Perhaps  the  self-same  song  that  found  a  path 

Through  the  sad  heart  of  Ruth,  when,  sick  for  home, 

She  Stood  in  tears  amid  the  alien  corn9; 

The  same  thai  "it  times  hath 
Charmed  magic  casements,  opening  on  the  foam 

(  >l    perilous  seas,   in   I  ei  \    lands  foi  loi  n. 

VIII. 

Forlorn  !  the  very  word  is  like  a  bell 
To  toll  me  bat  k  from  thee  to  my  sole  sell  ! 

Adieu  !  the  fam  y  i  annol  i  heal  so  well 
As  she  is  famed  to  do.  de<  eh  in  ,  elf. 


86  JOHN  KEATS. 

Adieu  !  adieu  !  thy  plaintive  anthem  fades 
Past  the  near  meadows,  over  the  still  stream, 
Up  the  hill-side  ;  and  now  'tis  buried  deep 
In  the  next  valley-glades  : 
Was  it  a  vision,  or  a  waking  dream  ? 

Fled  is  that  music  :  —  do  I  wake  or  sleep  ? 


NOTES. 


"This  poem,"  says  Leigh  Hunt,  "was  written  in  a  house  at  the  foot  of 
Ilighgate  Hill,  on  the  border  of  the  fields  looking  towards  Hampstead. 
The  poet  had  then  his  mortal  illness  upon  him,  and  knew  it  ;  never  was 
the  voice  of  death  sweeter." 

i.  Lethe-wards.  That  is,  towards  Lethe.  Lethe  was  one  of  the 
rivers  of  Hell.     Its  name  means  "  forgetfulness."     Milton  describes  it  thus  : 

"  A  slow  and  silent  stream, 
Lethe,  the  river  of  oblivion,  rolls 
Her  watery  labyrinth,  whereof  who  drinks 
Forthwith  his  former  state  and  being  forgets  — 
Forgets  both  joy  and  grief,  pleasure  and  pain." 

—  Paradise  Lost,  ii,  583. 

2.  Dryad.  A  wood-nymph.  From  Gr.  drus,  an  oak  tree.  The  life 
of  the  Dryad  was  supposed  to  be  bound  up  with  that  of  her  tree. 

"The  quickening  power  of  the  soul,  like  Martha,  is  'busy  about  many 
things,'  or,  like  a  Dryad,  living  in  a  tree."  —  Sir  Joint  Davis. 

3.  Provencal  song.  Song  of  the  troubadours,  a  school  of  lyric  poets 
that  tlourished  in  Provence,  in  the  south  of  France,  from  the  eleventh  to 
the  thirteenth  century.     A  love  song. 

4.  Hippocrene.  The  "Fountain  of  the  Horse"  (Fons  Caballinus).  A 
fountain  on  Mount  Helicon,  Bceotia,  sacred  to  the  Muses.  It  was  said  to 
have  been  produced  by  the  horse  IVgasus  striking  the  ground  with  his 
feet.     Its  waters  were  supposed  to  be  a  source  of  poetical  inspiration. 

Longfellow,  in  "The  Goblet  of  Fife,"  says: 

"  No  purple  flowers  —  no  garlands  green, 
Conceal  the  goblet's  shade  or  sheen, 
Nor  maddening  draughts  of  Hippocrene, 

J. ike  gleams  of  sunshine,  flash  between 
Thick  leaves  of  mistletoe." 


THE  EVE   OF  ST.   AGNES.  87 

5.  Bacchus  and  his  pards.  Bacchus  was  frequently  represented  as 
riding  on  the  back  of  a  leopard,  a  tiger,  or  a  lion,  or  in  a  chariot  drawn  l>y 
panthers. 

pards.     Spotted  beasts. 

See  Dryden's  "  Alexander's  Feast,"  third  stanza,  page  160. 

6.  Compare  with  Shakespeare's  "A   Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  Act 

ii,  sc.  i : 

"  I  know  a  bank  where  the  wild  thyme  blows, 

Where  oxlips  and  the  nodding  violet  grows, 

Quite  over-canopied  with  luscious  woodbine, 

With  sweet  musk-roses  and  with  eglantine." 

7.  darkling.      In  the  dark.     'The  word  is  very  rarely  used. 

8.  requiem.  A  dirge,  or  funeral  song.  "So  called  from  the  first 
word  in  tin-  (atholic  mass  for  the  dead,  Requiem  sternum  Joint  its Domine 
(Give  eternal  rest  to  them,  <  >  Lord)." —  Brand. 

become  a  sod.  Compare  with  Ecclesiastes,  xii,  7:  "Then  shall  the 
dust  return  to  the  earth  as  it  was." 

9.  alien  corn.      See   Ruth,  ii.     Why  alien  corn?     Longfellow,   in   bis 
m  on  "  Mowers,"  says: 

"  Everywhere  about  us  they  an-  glowing  — 

Some  like  stars,  to  tell  us  Spring  is  born  ; 

Others,  their  blue  eyes  with  tears  o'erflowing, 

Stand  like-  Ruth  amid  the  golden  corn." 


FROM    "Till';    EVE   OK   ST.    AGNES." 

Full  <>n  this  casemenl  shone  tli*'  wintry  moon, 
And  threw  warm  gules  on  Madeline's  fair  breast, 
As  down  she  knelt  for  heaven's  grai  e  and  boon  ; 
Rose  bloom  fell  on  her  hands,  together  prest, 
And  "it  her  silver  <t<>ss  sofl  amel hyst, 
And  nn  her  hair  a  glory,  like  ;i  sainl  : 
Sh.-  seem'd  a  splendid  angel,  newly  <li 
Save  wings,  foi  heaven  :       Porphyro  grew  fainl  : 
She  knelt,  s<.  pure  a  thing,    -  free  from  mortal  taint. 

An, mi  his  he  ni  revives  :  her  vespers  done, 
( >t  .ill  its  wreathed  pearls  hei  hail  she  frees; 


88  JO//.X   KEATS. 

Unclasps  her  warmed  jewels  one  by  one; 
Loosens  her  fragrant  bodice  ;  by  degrees 
Her  rich  attire  creeps  rustling  to  her  knees: 
Half-hidden,  like  a  mermaid  in  sea-weed, 
Pensive  awhile  she  dreams  awake,  and  sees, 
In  fancy,  fair  St.  Agnes  in  her  bed, 
But  dares  not  look  behind,  or  all  the  charm  is  fled. 

Soon,  trembling  in  her  soft  and  chilly  nest, 
In  sort  of  wakeful  swoon,  perplexed  she  lay, 
Until  the  poppied  warmth  of  sleep  oppressed 
Her  soothed  limbs,  and  soul  fatigued  away; 
Flown,  like  a  thought,  until  the  morrow-day ; 
Blissfully  havened  both  from  joy  and  pain  ; 
Clasped  like  a  missal  where  swart  Paynims  pray  : 
Blinded  alike  from  sunshine  and  from  rain, 
As  though  a  rose  should  shut,  and  be  a  bud  again. 

Stolen  to  this  paradise,  and  so  entranced, 
Porphyro  gazed  upon  her  empty  dress, 
And  listened  to  her  breathing,  if  it  chanced 
To  wake  into  a  slumberous  tenderness ; 
Which  when  he  heard,  that  minute  did  he  bless, 
And  breathed  himself  :  then  from  the  closet  crept, 
Noiseless  as  fear  in  a  wide  wilderness, 
And  over  the  hushed  carpet,  silent,  stept, 
And  'tween  the  curtains  peeped,  where,  lo  !  —  how  fast 
she  slept. 

Then  by  the  bed-side,  where  the  faded  moon 
Made  a  dim,  silver  twilight,  soft  he  set 
A  table,  and,  half  anguished,  threw  thereon 
A  cloth  of  woven  crimson,  gold,  and  jet:  — 
O  for  some  drowsy  Morphean  amulet! 


THE   EVE    OE  ST.    AGNES.  89 

The  boisterous,  midnight,  festive  clarion, 
The  kettle-drum,  and  tar-heard  clarionet, 
Affray  his  ears,  though  but  in  dying  tone :  - 
The  hall-door  shuts  again,  and  all  the  noise  is  gone. 

And  still  she  slept  an  azure-lidded  sleep, 
In  blanched  linen,  smooth,  and  lavendered, 
While  he  from  forth  the  closet  brought  a  heap 
(  M  candied  apple,  quince,  and  plum,  and  gourd  ; 
With  jellies  soother  than  the  creamy  curd, 
And  lucent  syrups,  tinct  with  cinnamon  ; 
Manna  and  dates,  in  argosy  transferred 
From  Fez  ;  and  spiced  dainties,  every  one, 
From  silken  Samarcand  to  cedared  Lebanon. 

These  delicates  he  heaped  with  glowing  hand 
Oil  golden  dishes  and  in  baskets  bright 
Of  wreathed  silver:  sumptuous  they  stand 
In  the  retired  quiet  of  the  night, 
Filling  the  chilly  room  with  perfume  light.  - 
"And  now,  my  love,  my  seraph  fair,  awake! 
Thou  art  mine  heaven,  and   I  thine  eremite: 
Open  thine  eyes,  for  meek  St.  Agnes'  sake, 
Or  I  shall  drowse  beside  thee,  so  my  soul  doth  ache." 

Thus  whispering,  his  warm,  unnerved  arm 
Sank  in  her  pillow.     Shaded  was  her  dream 
By  the  dusk  i  urtains :      'twas  a  midnight  <  harm 
Impossible  to  mell  as  ii  ed  si  ream  : 
'I  he  lu  'ions  salvers  in  the  moonlight  gleam  ; 
Broad  golden  t  ringe  upon  the  i  ai  pet  lies : 
It  seemed  he  ne\ er,  never  i  ould  redeem 
From  such  a  steadfasl  spell  his  lad 
So  mused  awhile,  entoiled  in  woofed  phant 


90  JOHN  KEATS. 

Awakening  up,  he  took  her  hollow  lute,  — 
Tumultuous,  —and,  in  chords  that  tenderest  be, 
He  play'd  an  ancient  ditty,  long  since  mute, 
In  Provence  called  "  La  belle  dame  sans  mercy  "  : 
Close  to  her  ear  touching  the  melody  ;  — 
Wherewith  disturbed,  she  uttered  a  soft  moan  : 
He  ceased  —  she  panted  quick  —  and  suddenly 
Her  blue  affrayed  eyes  wide  open  shone : 
Upon  his  knees  he  sank,  pale  as  smooth-sculptured  stone. 

Her  eyes  were  open,  but  she  still  beheld, 
Now  wide  awake,  the  vision  of  her  sleep  : 
There  was  a  painful  change,  that  nigh  expelled 
The  blisses  of  her  dream  so  pure  and  deep. 
At  which  fair  Madeline  began  to  weep, 
And  moan  forth  witless  words  with  many  a  sigh 
While  still  her  gaze  on  Porphyro  would  keep  ; 
Who  knelt,  with  joined  hands  and  piteous  eye, 
Fearing  to  move  or  speak,  she  looked  so  dreamingly. 

"  Ah,  Porphyro  !  "  said  she,  "  but  even  now 
Thy  voice  was  at  sweet  tremble  in  mine  ear, 
Made  tuneable  with  every  sweetest  vow ; 
And  those  sad  eyes  were  spiritual  and  clear: 
How  changed  thou  art!  how  pallid,  chill,  and  drear! 
Give  me  that  voice  again,  my  Porphyro, 
Those  looks  immortal,  those  complainings  dear 
Oh  leave  me  not  in  this  eternal  woe, 
For  if  thou  diest,  my  Love,  I  know  not  where  to  go." 

Beyond  a  mortal  man  impassioned  far 
At  these  voluptuous  accents,  he  arose, 
Ethereal,  flushed,  and  like  a  throbbing  star 
Seen  'mid  the  sapphire  heaven's  deep  repose; 


THE   EVE    OF  ST.   AGXES.  91 

Into  her  dream  he  melted,  as  the  rose 
Blendeth  its  odor  with  the  violet, — 
Solution  sweet :  meantime  the  frost-wind  blows 
Like  Love's  alarum  pattering  the  sharp  sleet 
Against  the  window-panes ;  St.  Agnes'  moon  hath  set. 

Tis  dark  :  quick  pattereth  the  flaw-blown  sleet : 
"This  is  no  dream,  my  bride,  my  Madeline  !  " 
'Tis  dark  :  the  iced  gusts  still  rave  and  beat : 
"  No  dream,  alas  !   alas  !   and  woe  is  mine  ! 
Porphyro  will  leave  me  here  to  fade  and  pine.  - 
Cruel  !   what  traitor  could  thee  hither  bring  ? 
I  curse  not,  for  my  heart  is  lost  in  thine, 
Though  thou  forsakest  a  deceived  thing;  — 
A  dove  forlorn  ami  lost  with  sick  unpruned  wing." 

"My  Madeline!  sweet  dreamer!   lovely  bride! 
Say,  may  I  be  for  aye  thy  vassal  blest  ? 
Thy  beauty's  shield,  heart-shaped  and  vermeil  dyed' 
Ah,  silver  shrine,  here  will   I  take  my  rest 
Alter  so  many  hours  of  toil  anil  quest, 
A  famished  pilgrim,  —  saved  by  miracle. 
Though   I  have  found,  I  will  not  rob  thy  nest, 
Saving  oi  thy  sweet  self;  ii  thou  think'sl  well 
'I'm  trust,  fair  Madeline,  i<>  no  rude  infidel." 

"  I  [ark  !  'tis  an  elfin-storm  from  fai  i  j  land, 
'  m  haggard  seeming,  bul  -\  boon  indeed  ; 
Arise      arise  !  the  morning  is  .it  hand  ;  — 
I  he  bloated  wassailers  will  never  heed  : 
Let  us  away,  my  love,  with  happy  speed ; 
There  are  no  ears  to  hear,  01 


92  JOHN  KEATS. 

Drowned  all  in  Rhenish  and  the  sleepy  mead  : 
Awake!  arise!  my  love,  and  fearless  be, 
For  o'er  the  southern  moors  I  have  a  home  for  thee." 

She  hurried  at  his  words,  beset  with  fears, 
For  there  were  sleeping  dragons  all  around, 
At  glaring  watch,  perhaps  with  ready  spears  — 
Down  the  wide  stairs  a  darkling  way  they  found, 
In  all  the  house  was  heard  no  human  sound. 
A  chain-drooped  lamp  was  flickering  by  each  door; 
The  arras,  rich  with  horseman,  hawk,  and  hound, 
Fluttered  in  the  besieging  wind's  uproar ; 
And  the  long  carpets  rose  along  the  gusty  floor. 

They  glide,  like  phantoms,  into  the  wide  hall ! 
Like  phantoms  to  the  iron  porch  they  glide, 
Where  lay  the  Porter,  in  uneasy  sprawl, 
With  a  huge  empty  flagon  by  his  side : 
The  wakeful  bloodhound  rose,  and  shook  his  hide, 
But  his  sagacious  eye  an  inmate  owns: 
By  one,  and  one,  the  bolts  full  easy  slide :  — 
The  chains  lie  silent  on  the  footworn  stones; 
The  key  turns,  and  the  door  upon  its  hinges  groans. 

And  they  are  gone  :  ay,  ages  long  ago 

These  lovers  fled  away  into  the  storm. 

That  night  the  Baron  dreamt  of  many  a  woe, 

And  all  his  warrior-guests,  with  shade  and  form 

Of  witch  and  demon  and  large  coffin-worm, 

Were  long  be-nightmared.     Angela,  the  old, 

Died  palsy-twitch 'd  with  meagre  face  deform  ; 

The  Beadsman,  after  thousand  aves  told, 

For  aye  unsought-for  slept  among  his  ashes  cold. 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE.  93 


NOTES. 

"The  Eve  of  St.  Agnes"  is  one  of  the  finest  of  Keats's  shorter  poems. 
Leigh  Hunt  describes  it  as"the  most  complete  specimen  of  his  genius; 
exquisitely  loving;  young,  hut  full-grown  poetry  of  the  rarest  description; 
graceful  as  the  beardless  Apollo;  glowing  and  gorgeous  with  the  col 
romance."  The  stanzas  here  quoted,  while  comprising  the  main  portion 
of  the  story,  are  not  quite  half  of  the  entire  poem. 

Madeline,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  a  rude  and  rich  old  baron,  is  secretly 
betrothed  to  Porphyro,  a  young  man  whom  her  father  has  sworn  to  slay. 
On  the  eve  of  St.  Agnes  a  great  feast  is  in  progress  in  the  baron's  Ci 
Porphyro,  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  "comes  across  the  moors,  with  heart  on 
lire  for  Madeline."  With  the  aid  of  the  old  nurse,  Angela,  he  gains 
admission  into  the  castle  and  is  concealed  in  a  closet,  where  he  conceives 
the  plan  for  their  elopement.  In  the  meanwhile,  Madeline,  having  danced 
with  her  father's  guests,  retires  to  her  room,  her  mind  full  of  the  thought 
of  Porphyro,  and  intent  upon  testing  the  truth  of  the  belief,  then  current, 
that  on  this  evening,  maidens  might,  if  they  performed  certain  ceremonies 
and  forms,  be  vouchsafed  a  sight  of  their  future  husbands. 

St.  Agnes  was  a  young  virgin  of  Palermo,  who  is  said  to  have  suffered 
martyrdom  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  in  the  Diocletian  persecution,  about  A'.D. 
304.      Her  feast  was  celebrated  on  the  21st  of  January. 

With  reference  to  the  versification  ol  this  poem,  see  what  is  said  of  the 
Spenserian  stan/.a,  page  232.  There  are  many  imitations  of  Spenser  in  these 
\'  rscs. 

The    student    is    desired    to    discover    for    himself    the    peculiarities    of 

thought,  of  feeling,  of  expression,  which  give  inter 

production.  The  following  are  a  few  of  the  wools  and  expressions  whose 
meaning  he  should  study:  "Gules";  "taint";  "vespers";  "poppied"; 
"  Swart  Paynims  ";  "Noiseless  as  fear  in  a  wide  wilderness";  "  Morphean 

amulet  ";  "affray";  "azure-lidded  sleep";  "argosv";  iss.d  ";  "tinct"; 

';  "Samarcand";  "Lebanon";  "eremite";  "witless";  "alarum"; 
" entoiled  in  woofed  phantasies " ;   "La  belli  ans  mercy";  "hear! 

shaped  and  vermeil  dyed  ";  "01  haggard  seeming";   "arras." 

BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

John  Keats  was  born  Octobei   29,  1 7'/:;.  in  M field  .  London 

H<-  w.is  senl  to  si  hool  -it  Enfield,  where  he  gained  the  rudimenl 
a  classical  education ;  but,  his  fathei  having  died  when  John  was  a 


94  JOHN   KEATS. 

mere  child,  lie  was  apprenticed  at  an  early  age  to  a  surgeon  in 
Edmonton.  When  seventeen  years  old  a  copy  of  Spenser's  "  Faerie 
Queene"  fell  into  his  hands,  and  the  perusal  of  that  great  poem  was 
the  beginning,  for  him,  of  a  new  life,  lie  felt  the  poetic  instinct 
within  him,  and  resolved  that  he  too  would  be  a  poet.  In  1817  he 
published  a  small  volume  of  poems,  which  attracted  but  little  atten- 
tion ;  and  in  1818  his  more  ambitious  effort,  "Endymion,"  was 
presented  to  the  world.  The  latter  poem  was  unkindly  received  by 
the  great  reviews.  The  author  was  advised  to  "go  back  to  his 
gallipots,"  and  told  that  "a  starved  apothecary  was  better  than  a 
starved  poet."  A  story  was  long  current  that  these  severe  criticisms 
induced  Keats's  early  death,  but  this  is  entirely  improbable.  He 
continued  writing,  although  consumption,  a  hereditary  disease  in  his 
family,  had  already  begun  its  work  upon  him.  He  published  u  The 
Eve  of  St.  Agnes"  in  1820,  and  had  made  some  progress  with  a 
noble  poem,  entitled  "  Hyperion,"  which  Lord  Byron  declared  to  be 
"actually  inspired  by  the  Titans,  and  as  sublime  as  /Eschylus."  In 
September  of  that  year  he  sailed  for  Italy,  but  the  hope  of  prolong- 
ing life  by  a  change  of  climate  proved  to  be  vain.  On  the  27th  of 
February,  1821,  he  died  at  Rome. 

'•We  can  hardly  be  wrong  in  believing,"  says  Masson,  "that  had 
Keats  lived  to  the  ordinary  age  of  man,  he  would  have  been  one  of 
the  greatest  of  all  our  poets.  As  it  is,  I  believe  we  shall  all  be  dis- 
posed to  place  him  very  near  indeed  to  our  very  best." 

"That  which  was  deepest  in  his  mind,"  says  Stopford  Brooke, 
'•  was  the  love  of  loveliness  for  its  own  sake,  the  sense  of  its  rightful 
and  pre-eminent  power;  and,  in  the  singleness  of  worship  which  he 
gave  to  Beauty,  Keats  is  especially  the  artist,  and  the  true  father  of 
the  latest  modern  school  of  poetry." 

Other  Poems  to  be  Read  :  Endymion;  Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn;  Lamia; 
Hyperion;   To  Autumn;    Hymn  to  Apollo;    Isabella. 

REFERENCES:  Keats  (English  Men  of  Letters),  l>y  Sidney  Colvin; 
Keats,  by  W.  M.  Rossetti;  Matthew  Arnold's  Essay  on  Keats,  in  Ward's 
English  Poets ;  Shairp's  Studies  in  Poetry. 


<Tljc  lEtcjtitrrnti)  Crnturu. 


-»-oj»;o<>- 


"  The  influence  of  the  poetry  of  the  past  lasted ;  new  elements 
were  added  to  poetry ;  and  new  forms  of  it  took  shape.  The  study 
of  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics  revived,  and  with  it  a  more  artistu 
poetry.     Not  only  correct  form,  for  which  Pope  sought,  but  beautiful 

form  was  sought  after.  Men  like  Thomas  Gray  and  William  Col- 
lins strove  to  pour  into  their  work  that  simplicity  of  beauty  which 
the  Greek  poets  and  Italians  like  Tetrarea  had  reached  as  the  last 
result  of  genius  restrained  by  art.  .  .  .  Two  things  had  been 
learned.  First,  that  artistit  rules  were  necessary,  and.  secondly, 
that  natural  feeling  was  necessary  in  order  that  poetry  should  have 
a  style  fitted  to  e  i press  nobly  the  emotions  and  thoughts  of  man .  Tin- 
way  was  therefore  now  made  ready  J o>    a  style  in   which  the  .lit 

should  itself  be  Nature,  and  it  sprang  at  once  into  being  in  the  work 
of  the  poets  of  this  time.  The  style  of  Gray  is  polished  to  the  finest 
point,  and  yet  it  is  instinct  with  not  in  id  feeling.  Goldsmith  is 
natural  even  to  simplicity,  and  vet  his  even  more  accurate 

than  Tofu-'s.  Cowper's  style,  in  such  poems  as  the  •lines  to  my 
Mothers  Picture,  arises  out  of  the  simplest  pathos,  and  yet  it  is  as 
pure  in  expression  as  Greek  poetry ."      Stopford  Brooke. 

'• .  It  last  there  started  up  an  unfortunate  Scotch  peasant  (Burns), 
rebelling  against  the  world,  and  in  love,  with  the  yearnings,  lusts. 
greatness,  and  irrationality  of  modern  genius.  Now  and  then 
behind  his  plough,  he  lighted  on  genuine  ich  as  Heine 

and  Alfred de  Musset  have  written  in  om  own  days,     in  thos* 

rds,  combined  after  a   new  fashion,  tf 
Tap.  i 


IPorts  of  tjje  Etgljtrrntl)  Crnturo. 

Alexander  Pope  (16SS-1744).     See  biographical  note,  page  155. 

Thomas  Parnell  (1679-17 18).     "The  Hermit";   snort  poems. 

Edward  Young  (1684-1765).  "Night  Thoughts";  "The  Last  Day"; 
"  Resignation." 

Allan  Ramsay  (1 686-1 75X).  "The  Gentle  Shepherd";  "Scots  Songs"; 
"  Fables  and  Tales." 

John  Gay  (16SS-1732).  "The  Beggar's  Opera";  "The  Shepherd's 
Week";   "Trivia";   "  Rural  Sports  " ;   fables,  and  other  short  poems. 

Matthew  Green  (1696-1737).     "The  Grotto";   "The  Spleen." 

John  Dyer  (1 698-1 758).     "Grongar  Hill";   "The  Fleece." 

Robert  Blair  (1 699-1 746).     "The  Grave." 

James  Thomson  (1700-1748).  "The  Seasons";  "The  Castle  of  Indo- 
lence." 

Samuel  Johnson  (1709-1784).  "The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes"; 
"  London." 

Richard  Glover  (1712-1785).  "Leonidas";  "Admiral  Hosier's  Ghost  "; 
"The  Athenaid." 

William  Shenstone  (1 714—1763).  "The  Schoolmistress";  "Pastoral 
Ballads." 

Thomas  Gray  (1716-1771).     See  biographical  note,  page  139. 

William  Collins  (1721-1759).     Odes  and  other  short  poems. 

Mark  Akenside  ( 1721-1770).     "  The  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination." 

Oliver  Goldsmith  (172S-1774).     See  biographical  note,  page  128. 

Thomas  Warton  (1 728-1 790).  "The  Pleasures  of  Melancholy";  "The 
Triumph  of  Isis";   short  poems. 

William  Cowper  (1 731-1800).     See  biographical  note,  page  122. 

Charles  Churchill  (1731-1764).  "The  Prophecy  of  Famine";  "The 
Rosciad." 

James  Beattie  (1 735-1803).     "The  Minstrel." 

Robert  Fergusson  ( 1 750-1 774).     Short  Scottish  poems. 

Thomas  Chatterton  (1752-1770).  "  Poems  of  Thomas  Rowlie  ";  short 
poems. 

George  Crabbe  (1 754-1 832).  "Tales  of  the  Hall";  "The  Village"; 
"The  Parish  Register";    "Tales  in  Verse." 

William  Blake  ( 1  757-1827).  "  Songs  of  Innocence  ";  "  Songs  of  Expe- 
rience";   "Poetical  Sketches." 

Robert  Burns  (i759-i700)-     See  biographical  note,  page  III. 

96 


"Robert  36urns. 


—o>Kc 


THE   COTTER'S1    SATURDAY    NIGHT. 
Inscribed  to  R.  Aiken,  Esq.2 

Let  not  Ambition  mo<  k  their  useful  toil, 
Their  bomely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure; 

Nor  '  Irandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 

fhe  short  but  simple  annals  of  the  Poor.8-  -  Gray. 

My  loved,  my  honored,  much  respected  friend! 
No  mercenary  hard  his  homage  pass; 
With  honest  pride,  I  scorn  each  selfish  end, 
My  dearest  meed,  a  friend's  esteem  and  praise: 
To  vim  I  sing,  in  simple  Scottish  lays,4 
The  lowly  train  B  in  life's  sequestered  scene; 
The  native  feelings  strong,  the  guileless  ways; 
What  Aiken  in  a  cottage  would  have  been; 
Ah!  though    Ids  worth   unknown,  far  happier  there   I 
ween. 

November  chill  blaws  loud  wi"  angry  SUgh  ;,; 

'I  he  short'ning  \\  intei  day  is  near  a  clo 
The  miry  beasts  retreating  frae  the  pleugh; 
The  black'ning  trains  o'  i  raws  to  then  repose  ; 
I  he  toil-worn  ( lotter  frae  his  laboi    ;o<   .  — 

This  night  his  weekly  moil  is  at  an  end, — 
Collects  his  spades,  his  mattOI  1.   .  and  his  ho<     . 

97 


98  ROBERT  BURNS. 

Hoping  the  morn  in  case  and  rest  to  spend, 
And  weary,  o'er  the   moor,  his  course  does  hameward 
bend.7 

At  length  his  lonely  cot  appears  in  view, 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree  ; 

Th'  expectant  wee  things  toddlin',  stacher  thro' 

To  meet  their  clad,  wi'  fiichterin  noise  an'  glee. 

His  wee  bit  ingle,  blinkin'  bonnily, 

His  clean  hearth-stane,  his  thriftie  wine's  smile, 

The  lisping  infant  prattling  on  his  knee, 

Does  a'  his  weary  carking  cares  beguile, 

An'  makes  him  quite  forget  his  labor  an'  his  toil.8 

Belyve,  the  elder  bairns9  come  drapping  in, 

At  service  out,  amang  the  farmers  roun' ; 

Some  ca' 10  the  pleugh,  some  herd,  some  tentie  rin 

A  cannie  errand  to  a  neibor  u  town  : 

Their  eldest  hope,  their  Jenny,  woman  grown, 

In  youthfu'  bloom,  love  sparkling  in  her  e'e, 

Comes  hame,  perhaps,  to  shew  a  braw  new  gown, 

Or  deposit 12  her  sair-won  penny-fee,13 

To  help  her  parents  dear,  if  they  in  hardship  be. 

Wi'  joy  unfeigned,  brothers  and  sisters  meet, 
An'  each  for  other's  welfare  kindly  spiers: 
The  social  hours,  swift-winged,  unnoticed  fleet; 
Each  tells  the  uncos  that  he  sees  or  hears ; 
The  parents,  partial,  eye  their  hopeful  years, 
Anticipation  forward  points  the  view. 
The  mother  wi'  her  needle  an'  her  shears, 
Gars  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  weel's  the  new; 
The  father  mixes  a'  wi'  admonition  due. 


THE    COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT.  99 

Their  master's  and  their  mistress's  command, 
The  younkers  a'  are  warned  to  obey  ; 
And  mind  their  labors  wi'  an  eydent  hand, 
And  ne'er,  tho'  out  o'  sight,  to  jauk  or  play  : 
"And,  oh  !  be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord  alway, 
And  mind  your  duty,  duly,  morn  and  night! 
Lest  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang  astray, 
Implore  J  lis  counsel  and  assisting  might: 
They    never    sought    in    vain     that     sought     the     Lord 
aright!"11 

But,  hark  !   a  rap  comes  gently  to  the  door; 
Jenny,  wha  kens  the  meaning  o'  the  same, 
Tells  how  a  neibor  lad  came  o'er  the  moor, 
To  do  some  errands,  and  convoy  her  hame. 
The  wily  mother  sees  the  conscious  flame 
Sparkle  in  Jenny's  e'e,  and  Hush  her  cheek  ; 
Wi'  heart-struck  anxious  care  inquires  his  name, 
While  Jenny  hafflins  is  afraid  to  speak  ; 
Wee!  pleased  the   mother   hears,  it's   nae  wild  worthless 
rake. 

Wi'  kindly  welcome  Jenny  brings  him  hen  ;  '' 
A  strappin'  youth  ;  he  takes  the  mother's  eye  ; 
Blythe  Jenny  sees  the  visit's  no  ill  ta'en  ; 
The  father  cracks  oi  horses,  pleughs,  and  ky< 
The  youngster's  artless  hearl  o'erflows  wi'  joy, 
But,  blate  and  fit hefu',  scan  e  i  an  wee!  beha> 
The  mother,  wi'  a  woman's  wiles,  can  spy 

What   makes  the  youth  sae  bashln'  ,in 

Wee)  pleased  to  think  her  bairn's  respected  like  the  lave. 

( )  happy  love  !  where  love  like  this  Is  found  ' 
<  )  1 1  -  .  1 1 1  fell  raptui  es  !  bliss  beyond  i  ompan  ' 


100  ROBERT  BURNS. 

I've  paced  much  this  weary,  mortal  round, 

And  sage  experience  bids  me  this  declare  :  — 

If  Heaven  a  draught  of  heavenly  pleasure  spare, 

One  cordial  in  this  melancholy  vale, 

Tis  when  a  youthful,  loving,  modest  pair, 

In  other's  arms  breathe  out  the  tender  tale, 

Beneath  the  milk-white  thorn  that  scents  the  evening 


gale  ! 


Is  there,  in  human  form,  that  bears  a  heart, 

A  wretch,  a  villain,  lost  to  love  and  truth, 

That  can,  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring  art, 

Betray  sweet  Jenny's  unsuspecting  youth? 

Curse  on  his  perjured  arts  !  dissembling  smooth  ! 

Are  honor,  virtue,  conscience,  all  exiled  ? 

Is  there  no  pity,  no  relenting  ruth, 

Points  to  the  parents  fondling  o'er  their  child  ? 

Then  paints  the  ruined  maid,  and  their  distraction  wild  ! 

But  now  the  supper  crowns  their  simple  board, — 
The  halesome  parritch,  chief  o'  Scotia's  food  : 
The  sowpe  their  only  hawkie  1T  does  afford, 
That  'yont  the  hallan  snugly  chows  her  cood  ; 
The  dame  brings  forth  in  complimental  mood, 
To  grace  the  lad,  her  weel-hained  kebbuck,  fell, 
An'  aft  he's  prest,  an'  aft  he  ca's  it  guid  ; 
The  frugal  wifie,  garrulous,  will  tell 
How  'twas  a  towmond  auld,  sin'  lint  was  i'  the  bell.18 

The  cheerfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face, 
They,  round  the  ingle,  form  a  circle  wide; 
The  sire  turns  o'er,  wi'  patriarchal  grace, 
The  big  ha'-Bible,19  ance  his  father's  pride  : 


THE    COTTER'S   SATURDAY  NIGHT.  lol 

His  bonnet w  rcv'rently  is  laid  aside, 

His  lyart  haffets  wearing  thin  an'  bare; 

Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 

He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care  ; 

And  "  Let  us  worship  God  !  "  he  says,  with  solemn  air. 

They  chant  their  artless  notes  in  simple  guise ; 
They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  noblest  aim  : 
Perhaps  "  Dundee's"  wild  warbling  measures  rise, 
Or  plaintive  "  Martyrs,"  worthy  of  the  name, 
Or  noble  "  Elgin  "  beets-1  the  heavenward  flame, 
The  sweetest  far  of  Scotia's  holy  lays: 
Compared  with  these,  Italian  trills  are  tame, 
The  tickled  ears  no  heart-felt  raptures  raise  ; 
Nae  unison  hae  they  with  our  Creator's  praise. 

The  priest-like  father  reads  the  sacred  page, 
How  Abram  was  the  friend  of  God  Oil  high; 
Or  Moses  bade  eternal  warfare  wage 
With  Amalek's  ungracious  progeny  ; 
Or  how  the  royal  bard  did  groaning  lie 
Beneath  the  stroke  ot  Heaven's  avenging  ire; 
( )i  Job's  pathetic  plaint,  and  wailing  cry  ; 
Or  rapt  Isaiah's  wild,  seraphic  fire ; 
( )r  other  holy  seers  th.it  tune  the  sai  red  lyre. 

perhaps  the  Christian  volume  is  the  theme, 
I  low  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  man  was  shed; 
How  He,  who  bote  in  Heaven  the  second  name, 
I  [ad  not  on  earth  whereon  to  lay  I  IK  head  : 
How  His  first  followers  and  servanl  d; 

The  precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many  .1  land  : 

Ul  J1A 

DIV/FPSinF 


102  ROBERT   BURXS. 

How  he,  who  lone  in  Patmos  banished, 
Saw  in  the  sun  a  mighty  angel  stand; 
And  heard  great  Babylon's  doom  pronounced  by  Heav- 
en's command. 

Then  kneeling  down,  to  Heaven's  Eternal  King, 

The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays : 

Hope  "  springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing,"  ffl 

That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  in  future  days : 

There  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays, 

No  more  to  sigh,  or  shed  the  bitter  tear, 

Together  hymning  their  Creator's  praise, 

In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear ; 

While  circling  time  moves  round  in  an  eternal  sphere. 

Compared  with  this,  how  poor  Religion's  pride. 
In  all  the  pomp  of  method  and  of  art, 
When  men  display  to  congregations  wide 
Devotion's  every  grace,  except  the  heart ! 
The  Power,  incensed,  the  pageant  will  desert, 
The  pompous  strain,  the  sacerdotal  stole23; 
But,  haply,  in  some  cottage  far  apart, 
May  hear,  well  pleased,  the  language  of  the  soul; 
And  in  His  book  of  life  the  inmates  poor  enroll. 

Then  homeward  all  take  off  their  several  way  ; 

The  youngling  cottagers  retire  to  rest : 

The  parent-pair  their  secret  homage  pay, 

And  proffer  up  to  Heaven  the  warm  request, 

That  He,  who  stills  the  raven's  clamorous  nest, 

And  decks  the  lily  fair  in  flowery  pride, 

Would,  in  the  way  His  wisdom  sees  the  best, 

For  them  and  for  their  little  ones  provide  ; 

But,  chiefly,  in  their  hearts  with  grace  divine  preside. 


THE    COTTER'S   SATURDAY  NIGHT.  103 

From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs, 
That  makes  her  loved  at  home,  revered  abroad  : 
Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings; 
"An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God  :  "  -' 
And  certes,  in  fair  virtue's  heavenly  road, 
The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind  ; 
What  is  a  lordling's  pomp  ?  —  a  cumbrous  load, 
Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  human  kind, 
Studied  in  arts  of  hell,  in  wickedness  refined! 

O  Scotia  !   my  dear,  my  native  soil  ! 

l'i|-  whom  my  warmest  wish  to  Heaven  is  sent, 

Long  may  thy  hardy  sous  of  rustic  toil 

He  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet  content! 

And,  oh,  may  Heaven  their  simple  lives  prevent 

From  luxury's  contagion,  weak  and  vile  ! 

Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 

A  virtuous  populace  may  rise  the  while, 

And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much-loved  isle. 

O  Thou  !    who  poured  the  patriotic  tide 

That  streamed  thro'  Wallace's-"'  undaunted  heart. 

Who  dared  to  nobly  stem  tyrannic  pride, 

( )r  nobly  die,  the  second  glorious  part, 

(The  patriot's  ( iod  peculiarly  Thou  ait, 

His  friend,  inspirer,  guardian,  and  reward!) 

( )  never,  nevei ,  Scotia's  realm  deseti  ; 

But  still  the  patriot,  ami  the  pati  iot  bard, 

In  brighl  succession  raise,  her  ornamenl  and  guard! 


NOT  I     , 


This  pi composed  in  I  written  partly  in  the  Scottish  dialect, 

partly  in  English.     The  liveliei  in  the  poet's  vernacular;  the 

loftiei  "i  mori    tolemn  parta  in  th  I  l"s  distinction 


104  ROBERT  BURNS. 

was  doubtless  made  because  Burns  disliked  to  treat  his  higher  themes  in 
a  merely  colloquial  manner,  fearing  to  belittle  them  by  so  doing.  The 
household  described  was  probably  that  of  the  poet's  own  father;  it  was  at 
least  a  typical  Scotch  peasant's  household,  with  which  no  one  was  more 
familiar.  (Gilbert  Burns,  in  a  letter  to  Dr.  Currie,  says:  "Although  the 
'  Cotter,'  in  the  Saturday  Night,  is  an  exact  copy  of  my  father  in  his 
manners,  his  family  devotions,  and  exhortations,  yet  the  other  parts  of  the 
description  do  not  apply  to  our  family.  None  of  us  ever  went  'At  service 
out  amang  the  neibors  roun'.'  Instead  of  our  depositing  our  'sair-won 
penny-fee  '  with  our  parents,  my  father  labored  hard,  and  lived  with  the 
most  rigid  economy,  that  he  might  be  able  to  keep  his  children  at  home.'' 

The  influence  of  Gray  and  Goldsmith  is  very  apparent  in  more  than  one 
passage  in  this  poem. 

"  Robert  had  frequently  remarked  to  me,"  said  his  brother,  "that  there 
was  something  particularly  venerable  in  the  phrase,  '  Let  us  worship  God,' 
used  by  a  decent,  sober  head  of  a  family  introducing  family  worship.  To 
this  sentiment  of  the  author,  the  world  is  indebted  for  'The  Cotter's  Satur- 
day Night.'  The  hint  of  the  plan  and  title  of  the  poem  is  taken  from 
Ferguson's  '  Farmer's  Ingle.'  " 

i.  Cotter.  "One  who  inhabits  a  cot,  or  cottage,  dependent  on  a 
farm."  —  Jamieson. 

2.  R.  Aiken.  A  friend  with  whom  Burns  had  been  brought  into  con- 
tact during  the  Old  and  New  Light  Controversy. 

3.  See  Gray's  "  Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard,"  eighth  stanza. 

4.  lays.  Songs;  probably  from  the  same  root  as  the  German  lied. 
The  word  was  originally  applied  to  a  form  of  elegiac  French  poetry,  much 
imitated  by  the  English. 

5.  train.  A  favorite  word  with  the  poets  at  this  time.  Goldsmith 
uses  it  no  fewer  than  six  times  in  the  "Deserted  Village."  The  original 
meaning  is  something  drawn  along;    from  Lat.  tralio,  to  draw. 

6.  SUgh.  Also  spelled  sough.  Whistling  sound,  murmur.  Derived 
from  the  same  root  as  sigh,  for  which  word  it  is  used  by  Burns  in  his  lines, 
"On  the  Battle  of  Sherriffmuir " : 

"  My  heart  for  fear  gae  sough  for  sough 
To  hear  the  thuds,"  etc. 

7.  Compare  with  Gray's  "  Elegy,"  line  3: 

"  I  he  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way." 

8.  Toil  was  perhaps  pronounced  tile,  thus  properly  rhyming  with  beguile. 
Johnson,  in  "  London,"  says: 

"  On  all  thy  hours  security  shall  smile, 
And  bless  thine  evening  walk  and  morning  toil." 


THE    COTTER'S   SATURDAY  NIGHT.  105 

g.    bairns.     From  A.-S.  beams,  children. 

10.    ca'.     Drive,  follow.     Probably  not  from  the  same  root  as  our  com- 
mon word  call.      Kingsley  uses  it  in  this  sense  in  the  line: 

Mary,  go,  and  call  the  cattle  home." 

ii.    neibor.     Neighboring.    Milton, in " Comus,"  uses  the  expressions : 

"Some  neighbor  woodman,"  "some  neighbor  villager";  and  Shakespeare 
says:  "A  neighbor  thicket"  ("Love's  Labour  Lost"),  and  "neighbor 
room"  ("Hamlet"). 

12.  deposit.     Pronounced  here  dep'o-zil. 

13.  penny-fee.     Fee,  wages,  from  A.-S.  feoh,  cattle.     "Cattle,"  says 
rorth,  "was  the  first  kind  of  property;   and,  by  bartering,  this  word 

came  to  signify  money  in  general."     So,  too,  the  word  penny  is  from  A.-S. 
,  Icelandic peningr,  cattle.     The  word  penny,  as  in  this  country  the 
word  dollar,  is  used  indefinitely  for  money. 

14.  Observe  that  in  quoting  the  words  of  the  Cotter  the  poet  partially 
drops  the  Ayrshire  dialect  and  uses  a  purer  English. 

15.  ben.     Within.     The  inner  part  of  the  house;   from  O.  E.  binnan, 
within.     Its  opposite  is  but,  the  outside  of  the  house. 

16.  kye.     Cattle,   from  O.-E.   cu,  or  hie.     Kine    is  derived    from  the 
same  root,  and  probably  cow. 

17.  hawkie.     This  word,  says  Hales,  "  denotes,  properly,  a  cow   with 
a  white  face.     So,  in  Northumberland,  bawsand  was  used  ol   an  animal 
with  a  white  spot   on    its   forehead,   and   crwnmit  of  a   COW   with    cro 
horns." 

18.  sin'  lint  was  i'  the  bell.     Since  flax  was  in  bloom.     That  i^,  the 
(  hi  ese  wu  a  year  old  last  flax-blossoming  time. 

19.  ha'-Bible.     The  hall  Bible  —  the  Bible  kepi  in  the  lust  room. 

20.  bonnet.     This  word  in  Scotch  d  covering.     In 
earlv  English  H  «^  used  in  the  game  sense. 

21.  beets.     1  1  1  thai  1-,  \\w<  9  fui  1  to  the  flame. 

"  It  v.. 11  in  1  me,  it  1  hai ms  me, 
I ..  mention  bul  hei  name  ; 
Ii  heal  •  in'-,  ii  beel  1  me, 
Are!    1  '    He  a'  ..ii  flame." 

Burns' i  /•:/■/  *//<■  to  Davie,  a  brotktt 

The  word  is  probably  from  A.-S.  betan,  to  better,  to  mend;  from  which, 
also,  we  have  the  words  beat,  I  I,  better,  bt  it,  eti  . 

22.  Burns  refers  the  reader  to  Pope's  "  Windsoi   Forest  "  foi  this  quo- 

!,        II'    probably  had  in  mind  the  Imp    in  th<    "  I  ■•   M 

"II  icrnal  m  the  human  bn 


106 


ROBERT  BURNS. 


23.  sacerdotal  stole.  A  long,  narrow  scarf  with  fringed  ends,  and 
richly  embroidered,  worn  by  the  clergy  upon  certain  occasions.  Sacer- 
dotal, from  Lat.  sacerdos,  a  priest.  Stole,  from  I  .at.  stola,  a  long  dress 
worn  by  Roman  women  over  their  tunic  and  fastened  with  a  girdle. 

24.  Tope's  "  Kssay  on  Man,"  Epistle  iv,  line  247. 

25.  William  Wallace  (1270-1305),  the  Scotch  national  hero  was,  like 
Burns,  a  native  of  Ayrshire. 


VOCABULARY. 


aft,  often. 
amaist,  almost, 
amang,  among, 
ance,  once. 
auld,  old. 
belyve,  by  and  by. 
blate,  bashful, 
blinkin,  gleaming, 
blythe,  happy. 
braw,  brave,  line, 
cannie,  easy, 
carking,  fretting, 
certes,  certain, 
chows,  chews. 
claes,  clothes. 
convoy,  accompany. 
cracks,  talks. 
craws,  crows, 
drapping,  dropping. 
eydent,  diligent 
fell,  tasty. 

flichterin,  fluttering, 
frae,  from. 
gang,  go. 
gars,  makes, 
guid,  good. 
hae,  have, 
haffets,  temples, 
hafflins,  half, 
halesome,  wholesome. 
hallan,  partition  wall, 
hameward,  homeward. 


ingle,  (ire. 

jauk,  trifle. 

kebbuck,  cheese. 

kens,  understands. 

lathefu',  shy. 

lave,  the  rest. 

lyart,  gray. 

miry,  muddy,  dusty. 

moil,  labor. 

nae,  no. 

parritch,  porridge. 

pleugh,  plough. 

rin,  run. 

sair-won,  hard-earned. 

sowpe,  milk. 

spiers,  inquires. 

stacher,  stagger. 

strappin',  strapping,  stout. 

tentie,  attentively. 

towmond,  twelvemonth. 

uncos,  unknown  things,  new. 

wales,  chooses. 

wee  bit,  little. 

weel,  well. 

wee  things,  little  folks. 

weel-hained,  well-kept. 

wiles,  knowledge. 

wily,  knowing. 

youngling,  youthful. 

younkers,  youngsters,  children. 

'yont,  on  the  other  side  of. 


TO   A    MOUNTAIN  DAISY.  107 


TO    A    MOUNTAIN    DAISY. 

On  turning  one  down   with   the   1'i.ougii,  in  April, 

i  786. 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flow'r, 
Them's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour  ; 
For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure 

Thy  slender  stem. 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  power, 

Thou  bonnie  gem. 

Alas !  it's  no  thy  neibor  sweet, 
The  bonnie  lark,  companion  meet  ! 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet 

\\T  spreckled  breast, 
When  upward  springing,  blythe  to  greel 

The  purpling  east. 

(   Luld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north 
Upon  thy  early  humble  birth  ; 
Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  foi  th 

Amid  the  storm, 
Scarce  reared  above  the  parenl  earth 

Thy  tender  form. 

The  flaunting  flowers  our  gardens  yield, 

1 1  ih  sheltering  woods  an1  wa's  maun  shield  ; 

Bui  thou,  beneath  the  random  bield 

( >'  i  lod  or  stan 
Adorns  the  histie  stibble  field, 

l  Fnseen,  alane 


10S  ROBERT  BURNS. 

There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawie  bosom  sunward  spread, 
Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise  : 
But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed, 

And  low  thou  lies  ! 

Such  is  the  fate  of  artless  maid, 
Sweet  flow'ret  of  the  rural  shade  ! 
By  love's  simplicity  betrayed, 

And  guileless  trust, 
Till  she,  like  thee,  all  soiled,  is  laid 

Low  i'  the  dust. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  simple  bard, 

On  life's  rough  ocean  luckless  starred  ! 

Unskilful  he  to  note  the  card 

Of  prudent  lore, 
Till  billows  rage,  and  gales  blow  hard, 

And  whelm  him  o'er! 

Such  fate  to  suffering  worth  is  given, 
Who  long  with  wants  and  woes  has  striven, 
By  human  pride  or  cunning  driven 

To  misery's  brink, 
Till,  wrenched  of  every  stay  but  Heaven, 

He,  ruined,  sink  ! 

Even  thou  who  mourn'st  the  Daisy's  fate, 
That  fate  is  thine  —  no  distant  date; 
Stern  Ruin's  ploughshare  drives,  elate, 

Full  on  thy  bloom, 
Till  crushed  beneath  the  furrow's  weight, 

Shall  be  thy  doom. 


FOR   A*    THAT,   AND  A'    THAT. 


iuy 


VOCABULARY. 


bield,  protection. 
blythe,  happy. 
bonnie,  pretty. 
card,  compass. 
glinted,  passed  quickly. 
histie,  barren. 


maun,  must. 
spreckled,  speckled. 
stibble,  stubble, 
stoure,  dust, 
weet,  wetness, 
wrenched,  deprived. 


>:<*:>  ■ 


FOR   A'    THAT,    AND    A'    THAT. 

Is  there,  for  honest  poverty, 

That  han^s  his  head,  and  a'  that?1 
The  coward  slave,  we  pass  him  by, 
We  dare  be  poor  for  a"  that  ! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

( )nr  toils  obscure,  and  a'  that  ; 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp,2 
The  man's  the  gowd8  for  a'  that! 

What  though  on  hamely  fare  we  dine, 

Wear  hoddin  gray,  and  a'  that ; 
Gie  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  theil   wine, 

A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that  ! 

I'd!  a'  that,  and  a1  I  hat, 
Their  tinsel  show,  and  a1  that  , 

The  honest  man,  though  e'er  sae  poor, 
Is  king  o'  men  for  a'  that  ! 


Ye  see  yon  birkie,*  ca'd  a  lord, 

Wha  struts,  and  stares,  and  a'  that  ; 

Though  hundreds  woi  ship  al  his  word, 
I  [e's  but  a  i  ooi  '  foi  a'  thai  ; 


110  ROBERT   BURNS. 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

His  riband,  star,  and  a'  that; 
The  man  of  independent  mind, 

He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

A  prince  can  mak  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke,  and  a'  that  ; 
But  an  honest  man's  aboon6  his  might, 
Guid  faith,  he  maunna  fa'7  that! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Their  dignities,  and  a'  that ; 
The  pith  o'  sense,  and  pride  o'  worth, 
Are  higher  ranks  than  a'  that ! 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may  — 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that- 
That  sense  and  worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth, 
May  bear  the  gree,8  and  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

It's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that, 
That  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er, 
Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that ! 


NOTES. 

i.  Is  there  anything  in  honest  poverty  to  cause  one  to  hang  his  head, 
etc.? 

2.  Explain  lines  7  and  8  fully. 

3.  gowd,  gold.  6.    aboon  his  might,  above  his  power. 

4.  birkie,  fellow.  7.   maunna  fa',  may  not  get. 

5.  coof,  fool.  8.    gree,  palm,  supremacy. 

"  I'.uriis  was  not  only  the  poet  of  love,  but  also  of  the  new  excitement 
about  man.  Himself  poor,  he  sang  the  poor.  Neither  poverty  nor  low 
birth  made  a  man  the  worse  —  the  man  was  'a  man  for  a'  that.'"  —  Stop- 
ford  Brooke. 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE.  Ill 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

Robert  Burns  was  bom  in  Ayrshire,  Scotland,  in  1759.  "ls 
childhood  and  youth  were  spent  in  povert)  on  his  father's  farm, 
where  he  learned  to  plough,  reap,  mow.  and  thresh  in  the  barn,  but 

where  opportunities  lor  education  were  such  only  as  Scottisli  peas- 
ants know.  In  1784  his  lather  died,  and  he  attempted  to  manage 
a  farm  of  his  own  at  Mossgiel.  The  experiment  proving  to  be  a 
failure,  he  resolved  to  leave  Scotland,  and  secured  an  appointment 
to  a  clerkship  in  Jamaica.  Just  before  the  time  set  for  his  departure, 
he  learned  of  the  success  of  a  volume  of  his  poems  which  had  just 
been  published  at  Kilmarnock:  and,  instead  of  departing  for  the 
West  Indies,  lie  made  a  visit  to  Edinburgh.  He  was  welcomed  by 
the  best  society,  and  received  at  once  into  the  literary  circles  of  the 
Scottish  capital.  "His  name  and  fame  (lashed  like  sunshine  over 
the  land:  the  shepherd  on  the  hill,  the  maiden  at  her  wheel,  learned 
his  songs  by  heart,  and  the  first  scholars  of  Scotland  courted  his 
acquaintance."  A  second  edition  of  his  poems  was  published  in 
17.S7,    and   with    the   proceeds  —  about    £2500 — he   took   a    faun    at 

Ellisland,  in  Nithsdale.  But  his  habits  were  such  that  he  made  .sad 
failure  a  second  time  in  the  experiment  of  farming;  and.  after  two 
years  of  mismanagement,  to  eke  out  his  scant}-  income  he  accepted 

an   appointment    as   exciseman.      In    [791,    "unfortunately   both    tin 

his  health  and  for  his  reputation,"  he  removed  to  Dumfries,  where, 
five  years  later,  he  died. 

••  While  the  Shakespeares  and  Milton,  mil  on  like  mighty  rivers 

through  the  country  of  Thought,  bearing  fleets  of  traffickers  and 

iious  pearl-1  m  their  waves,  this  little  Valclusa  Fountain 

will   also  ,1111-1    '.in    eye;    l"i    this  also  is  of  Nature's  own  and  in..  1 

cunning  workmanship,  bursts  from  the  depths  of   the  earth,  with 
a  full  gushing  current,  into  the  light  of  da)  ;  and  often  will  the 
Her  turn  a  ;ide  to  drink  of  its  i  leai  wat<  1  i,  and  muse  .1111011-  its 
and  pines.1'      ( 'arlyle. 

"  burn,  i,  not  the  poet's  poet,  Whi<  h  Sin  He)    no  doubt    meant    t.i 

be,  or  the  philosopher's  poet,  whi<  h  Word  iworth,  in  spite  of  himself, 

is.     lb-  is  the  poel  of  hoineb,  human  nature,  not  hall    0  hom<  ly  01 

pro  ai<  as  it  sei  H         "in ,.  in  a  mannei  all  its  ow  n,  .1 

itself  with  the  fortuni   .  1  cp<  ri<  ■••  1   •  memorable  moments,  of  human 


112  ROBERT  BURNS. 

beings  whose  humanity  is  their  sole  patrimony;  to  whom  'liberty' 
and  whatever,  like  liberty,  has  the  power 

To  raise  a  man  above  the  brute, 
And  mak  him  ken  himsel,' 

is  their  portion  in  life ;  for  whom  the  great  epochs  and  never-to-be- 
forgotten  phases  of  existence  are  those  which  are  occasioned  by 
emotions  inseparable  from  the  consciousness  of  existence.  For  the 
great  majority  of  his  readers,  and  therefore  for  the  mass  of  human  . 
beings,  the  sympathy  which  exists  between  him  and  them  is  sym- 
pathy relative  to  their  strongest  and  deepest  feelings,  and  this  is 
sympathy  out  of  which  personal  affection  naturally  springs,  and  in 
the  strength  of  which  it  cannot  but  grow  strong." —  John  Service. 

"  Burns  was  not  like  Shakespeare  in  the  range  of  his  genius,  but 
there  is  something  of  the  same  magnanimity,  directness,  and 
unaffected  character  about  him.  With  but  little  of  Shakespeare's 
imagination  or  inventive  power,  he  had  the  same  life  of  mind ; 
within  the  narrow  circle  of  personal  feeling  or  domestic  incidents, 
the  pulse  of  his  poetry  flows  as  healthily  and  vigorously.  He  had 
an  eye  to  see,  a  heart  to  feel,  —  no  more.  His  pictures  of  good 
fellowship,  of  social  life,  of  quaint  humor,  are  equal  to  anything ; 
they  come  up  to  nature,  and  they  cannot  go  beyond  it."  —  Hazlitt. 

"His  is  that  language  of  the  heart 

In  which  the  answering  heart  would  speak, 
Thought,  word,  that  bids  the  warm  tear  start, 
Or  the  smile  light  the  cheek. 

"  And  his  that  music  to  whose  tone 

The  common  pulse  of  man  keeps  time, 

In  cot  or  castle's  mirth  or  moan, 

In  cold  or  sunny  clime." 

—  Fits-Greene  Ha  Heck. 

Other  Poems  to  be  Read:  Bannockburn;  Auld  Lang  Syne;  Tarn  O' 
Shanter;  To  a  Mouse;  The  Jolly  Beggars;  Ye  Banks  and  Braes  of  Bonnie 
D i;   Highland  Mary;  Address  to  the  Deil ;  To  Mary  in  Heaven. 

References:  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Robert  Burns;  Burns  (English  Men 
of  Letters),  by  J.  C.  Shairp;    Hazlitt's  English  Poets. 


William  Cowper. 

BOADICEA. 

When  the  British  warrior  queen, 
Bleeding  from  the  Roman  rods, 

Sought,  with  an  indignant  mien, 
i    iunsel  from  her  country's  gods, 

■  beneath  the  spreading  oak 
Sat  the  I  )niid,  hoary  chiel  ; 
1      ;  y  burning  word  he  spoke 
Full  "i  rage,  and  lull  ol  grief. 

"  Prim  ess!  ii  our  aged  eyes 
Weep  upon  thy  matchless  wrongs, 

"Ii-  be<  ause  resentment  ties 
All  the  tenors  ol  our  tongues. 

••  R< imi     hall  perish  —  \\ rite  tli.it  word 
In  the  blood  thai  sin-  has  spilt ; 

Perish,  hopeless  ;m<l  abhorr'd, 
Di  ep  in  ruin  as  in  guilt. 

"  Rome,  for  empire  fai  renown'd, 
I  i  imples  "ii  a  t  hou  land  stati 

Soon  her  pi  ide  shall  kiss  the  ground, 
I  Ink,  the  Gaul  is  al  her  gat    ' 

113 


114  WILLIAM   COWPER. 

"  Other  Romans  shall  arise, 
Heedless  of  a  soldier's  name; 

Sounds,  not  arms,1  shall  win  the  prize; 
1  larmony  the  path  to  fame. 

"Then  the  progeny  that  springs 
From  the  forests  of  our  land, 

Arm'd  with  thunder,  elad  with  wings,2 
Shall  a  wider  world  command. 

"  Regions  Caesar  never  knew 
Thy  posterity  shall  sway  ; 

Where  his  eagles  never  hew 
None  invincible  as  they."3 

Such  the  bard's  prophetic  words, 
Pregnant  with  celestial  fire, 

Bending  as  he  swept  the  chords 
Of  his  sweet  but  awful  lyre. 

She,  with  all  the  monarch's  pride, 
Felt  them  in  her  bosom  glow, 

Rush'd  to  battle,  fought  and  died; 
Dying,  hurled  them4  at  the  foe. 

Ruffians,  pitiless  as  proud, 

Heaven  awards  the  vengeance  due  ; 
Empire  is  on  us  bestowed, 

Shame  and  ruin  wait  for  you.5 


NOTES. 

Boadicea  was  queen  of  the  Iceni,  a  powerful  and  warlike  tribe  of 
Britons,  about  the  middle  of  the  first  century.  Upon  the  death  of  her 
husband,   Prasutagus,  her  kingdom  was  seized   by  the  Romans,  and   she 


ON    THE    RECEIPT  OF  MY  MOTHER- S  PICTURE.     115 

herself,  fur  some  real  or  imaginary  offence,  was  publicly  scourged.  I  luring 
the  absence  of  the  Roman  governor  from  that  part  of  England,  Boadicea 
raised  an  immense  army,  burned  the  city  of  London,  and  put  70,000 
Romans  to  the  sword.  She  afterwards,  with  230,000  troops,  met  the 
Roman  army,  under  Suetonius,  in  the  field,  and  although  the  Romans, 
muster  only  10,000  soldiers,  the  British  army  was  defeated,  and  the  queen, 
in  despair,  ended  her  own  life  by  taking  poison. 

In  this  poem,  Cowper  represents  the  queen  as,  soon  after  her  shameful 
treatment  by  the  Romans,  seeking  counsel  from  one  of  the   native   priests. 
I  >ruid  prophesies  the  destruction  of  Rome  and  the  future  greatness  of 
Britain. 

1.  Sounds,  not  arms.  I).  poet  allude  to  the  cultivation  of 
oratory  and  poetry  among  the  Romans  and  the  neglect  of  military  affairs? 

2.  Arm'd  with  thunder,  clad  with  wings.     What  do  these  ex] 
-  mean?     To  what  do  they  refer? 

3.  Explain  the  pro]  luded  in  this  stanza. 

4.  hurled  them.     Hurled  what? 

5.  inza,  evidently  a  part  of  the  imprecation  which  Boadicea 
"  hurled  "  at  her  enemies,  ought  to  be  em  losed  with  quotation  marks,  but 
in  most  versions  of  the  poem  it  appears  without  them. 


•     I  III.    RECEIPT    OF    MY    MOTHER'S 
PICTUR] 

( )n,  tli.it  those  lips  had  language  I     I  ,ife  has  pat 

With  me  bul  roughly  sini  e  I  heard  I  hee  List. 

Titos.-  lips  are  thine  —  thy  own  sweel  smile  I  see, 

The  same  thai  ofl  in  childhood  solaced  mi 

V"i<  e  only  fails,  else  how  distincl  they  miy, 

"  Grieve  not,  my  <  hild,  i  hase  .ill  th\  i.  ars  awa)  ' " 

Tin-  meek  intelligent  e  <»i  those  deai 

(  Blessed  1>'-  the  arl  thai  can  immortalize, 

The  it t  th.it  baffles  I  ime' -  i \  i anni<  i  laim 

I  "■■  quern  h  it;  here  shims  on  me  -till  the  same. 


116  WILLIAM    COWPER. 

Faithful  remembrancer  of  one  so  dear, 

0  welcome  guest,  though  unexpected  here  ! 
Who  bidst  nie  honor  with  an  artless  song, 
Affectionate,  a  mother  lost  so  long, 

1  will  obey,  not  willingly  alone, 

But  gladly,  as  the  precept  were  her  own  : 
And,  while  that  face  renews  my  filial  grief, 
Fancy  shall  weave  a  charm  for  my  relief, 
Shall  steep  x  me  in  Elysian  reverie,2 
A  momentary  dream  that  thou  art  she. 

My  mother  !  when  I  learnt3  that  thou  wast  dead, 
Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tears  I  shed  ? 
Hovered  thy  spirit  o'er  thy  sorrowing  son, 
Wretch  even  then,  life's  journey  just  begun  ? 
Perhaps  thou  gavest  me,  though  unfelt,  a  kiss; 
Perhaps  a  tear,  if  souls  can  weep  in  bliss. 
Ah!  that  maternal  smile  !     It  answers  —  Yes. 
I  heard  the  bell  tolled  on  thy  burial  day, 
I  saw  the  hearse  that  bore  thee  slow  away, 
And,  turning  from  my  nursery  window,  drew 
A  long,  long  sigh,  and  wept  a  last  adieu  ! 
But  was  it  such  ?  —  It  was.  — Where  thou  art  gone 
Adieus  and  farewells  are  a  sound  unknown. 
May  I  but  meet  thee  on  that  peaceful  shore, 
The  parting  word  shall  pass  my  lips  no  more! 
The  maidens,  grieved  themselves  at  my  concern,4 
Oft  gave  me  promise  of  thy  quick  return. 
What  ardently  I  wished  I  long  believed, 
And,  disappointed  still,  was  still  deceived. 
By  expectation  every  day  beguiled, 
Dupe  of  to-morrow  even  from  a  child. 
Thus  many  a  sad  to-morrow  came  and  went, 
Till,  all  my  stock  of  infant  sorrow  spent, 


OX    THE   RECEIPT  OF  MY  MOTHER'S  PICTURE.     117 

I  learned  at  last  submission  to  my  lot ; 

But,  though  I  less  deplored  thee,  ne'er  forgot. 

Where  once  we  dwelt  our  name  is  heard  no  more, 
Children  not  thine  have  trod  my  nursery  floor; 
And  where  the  gardener  Robin,  day  by  day, 
Drew  me  to  school  along  the  public  way, 
Delighted  with  my  bauble  coach,  and  wrapped 
In  scarlet  mantle  warm,  and  velvet  capped, 
"I'is  now  become  a  history  little  known, 
That  once  we  called  the  pastoral  house  our  own. 
Short-lived  possession  !  but  the  record  fair 
That  memory  keeps,  of  all  thy  kindness  there, 
Still  outlives  many  a  storm  that  has  effaced 
A  thousand  other  themes  less  deeply  traced.6 
Thy  nightly  visits  to  my  chamber  made, 
That  thou  mightst  know  me  safe  and  warmly  laid; 
Thy  morning  bounties  ere  I  left  my  home, 
The  biscuit,  or  confectionary  plum  ;'; 
The  fragrant  waters  on  my  cheek  bestowed 
By  thy  own  hand,  till  fresh  they  shone  and  glowed; 
All  this,  and  more  endearing  still  than  all, 
Thy  constant  How  of  love,  thai  knew  no  fall, 
Ne'er  roughened  by  those  cataracts  and  brakes 
Thai  humor  interposed  too  often  makes;7 
All  this  still  legible  in  memory's  pa| 
And  still  to  be  so  to  uiv  latesl  age, 
Adds  joy  to  duty,  makes  me  glad  to  pa) 
Sui  h  honors  to  thee  as  my  numbers  may  ; 
Perhaps  a  frail  memorial,  bul  sincere, 
Nol  scorned  in  heaven,  though  little  noticed  here. 

Could    Time,  his  flight  reversed,  restore  the  hours, 
When,  playing  with  thy  vesture's  tissued  flowers, 
The  violet,  the  pink,  and  jessamine, 


US  ;/•////./.]/   COWPER. 

I  pricked  them  into  paper  with  a  pin 

(  And  thou  wast  happier  than  myself  the  while, 

Wouldst  softly  speak,  and  stroke  my  head  and  smile), 

Could  those  few  pleasant  days  again  appear, 

Might  one  wish  bring  them,  would  I  wish  them  here? 

T  would  not  trust  my  heart  —  the  dear  delight 

Seems  so  to  be  desired,  perhaps  I  might. — 

But  no  —  what  here  we  call  our  life  is  such 

So  little  to  be  loved,  and  thou  so  much, 

That  I  should  ill  requite  thee  to  constrain 

Thy  unbound  spirit  into  bonds  again. 

Thou,  as  a  gallant  bark8  from  Albion's  coast 
(The  storms  all  weathered  and  the  ocean  crossed) 
Shoots  into  port  at  some  well-havened  isle, 
Where  spices  breathe,  and  brighter  seasons  smile, 
There  sits  quiescent  on  the  floods  that  show 
Her  beauteous  form  reflected  clear  below, 
While  airs  impregnated  with  incense  play 
Around  her,  fanning  light  her  streamers  gay; 
So  thou,  with  sails  how  swift !  hast  reached  the  shore, 
"Where  tempests  never  beat  nor  billows  roar."9 
And  thy  loved  consort  on  the  dangerous  tide 
Of  life  long  since  has  anchored  by  thy  side. 
But  me,  scarce  hoping  to  attain  that  rest, 
Always  from  port  withheld,  always  distressed  - 
Me  howling  blasts  drive  devious,  tempest  tost, 
Sails  ripped,  seams  opening  wide,  and  compass  lost, 
And  day  by  day  some  current's  thwarting  force, 
Sets  me  more  distant  from  a  prosperous  course. 
Yet,  oh,  the  thought  that  thou  art  safe,  and  he  ! 
That  thought  is  joy,  arrive  what  may  to  me. 
My  boast  is  not,  that  T  deduce  my  birth 
From  loins  enthroned  and  rulers  of  the  earth  ; 


ON   THE   RECEIPT   OF  MY  MOTHER'S  PICTURE.     119 

But  higher  far  my  proud  pretensions  rise  — 
The  son  of  parents  passed  into  the  skies ! 
And  now,  farewell  —  Time  unrevoked  has  run 
His  wonted  course,  yet  what  I  wished  is  done. 
By  contemplation's  help,  not  sought  in  vain, 
I  seem  to  have  lived  my  childhood  o'er  again  ; 
To  have  renewed  the  joys  that  once  were  mine, 
Without  the  sin  of  violating  thine  : 
And,  while  the  wings  of  Fancy  still  are  free, 
And  I  can  view  this  mimic  show  of  thee,10 
Time  h:ts  but  half  succeeded  in  his  theft  — 
Thyself  removed,  thy  power  to  soothe  me  left. 


NOTES. 


This,  one  "f  the  most  exquisite  poems  in  the  language,  was  written  by 
'  'owper  in  "the  last  glimmering  of  the  evening  light,"  lie  lure  liis  mind  was 
wholly  overwhelmed  by  the  final  attack  "I  insanity.  "  Every  line  is  instinct 
with  a  profound  and  chastened  feeling,  to  which  it  would  be  difficult  t • » 
find  a  parallel.  There  is  not  a  phrase,  not  a  word,  which  jars  upon  the 
most  Busceptible  ear,  not  a  tinge  "f  exaggeration,  not  a  touch  that  is 
rive.  The  fact  that  he  who  gave  forth  these  supreme  utterances  "i 
filial  love  was  old  himself  when  he  <li'l  it,  brings  into  the  relationship  a 
strange,  tender  t-'iuality  whi<  li  is  marvellously  touching." 

i.    steep.     Imbue.     From  Ger.  itippen.     li the  same  roof  as  dip, 

with  the  li  it.  i  ed. 

2.    Elysian  reverie.     Hi  i  enly  meditation.     See   note   on    Elysium, 

79- 

3«    when  I  learnt.     Cowper  was  only  six  years  old  when  bi^  mothei 

4.  concern.     I  listn  --,  am  i<  ty. 

5.  Nearly  fifty  years  aftei  ln^  mother's  death,  Cowper  wrote:  "I  can 
truly  sa)  thai  not  a  weel   p  lerhaps  I  might  with  equal  veracity  say 

a  day)  in  whii  li  I  d •  think  ol  hei  ;   bui  b  "as  the  impression  hi  1    ti  n 

demess  made  upon  me,  though  the  opportunity  jhe  had  for  showing  it 

■  ihorl 


120  WILLIAM   COWPER. 

6.  plum.  Perhaps  the  gravest  fault  in  this  poem  is  the  frequent  inter- 
mixture, as  in  these  two  lines,  of  trivial  thoughts  and  circumstances  with 
those  of  a  more  noble  character. 

7.  Explain  the  metaphor  which  the  poet  attempts  to  carry  through 
these  three  lines.  Brakes  =  breaks,  interruptions.  What  is  the  meaning 
of  humor  ? 

8.  as  a  gallant  bark.  Observe  the  beauty  of  the  simile  in  these 
twelve  lines,  also  of  the  simile  which  follows. 

9.  Probably    misquoted    from    "The    Dispensary,"    by    Samuel    Garth 

(1670-1719) : 

"  To  die  is  landing  on  some  silent  shore, 

Where  billows  never  break  nor  tempests  roar." 

10.  this  mimic  show.     Explain'the  meaning  of  this  expression. 


>'.»:«- 


EPITAPH    ON    A    HARE. 

Here  lies,  whom  hound  did  ne'er  pursue, 
Nor  swifter  greyhound  follow, 

Whose  foot  ne'er  tainted  morning  dew, 
Nor  ear  heard  huntsman's  halloo ; 

Old  Tiney,  surliest  of  his  kind, 
Who,  nursed  with  tender  care, 

And  to  domestic  hounds  confined, 
Was  still  a  wild  Jack  hare. 

Though  duly  from  my  hand  he  took 

His  pittance  every  night, 
He  did  it  with  a  jealous  look, 

And,  when  he  could,  would  bite. 

His  diet  was  of  wheaten  bread, 
And  milk,  and  oats,  and  straw; 

Thistles,  or  lettuces  instead, 
With  siiikI  to  scour  his  maw. 


EPITAPH   ON  A    HARE.  121 

On  twigs  of  hawthorn  he  regaled, 

On  pippins'  russet  peel, 
And,  when  his  juicy  salads  failed, 

Sliced  carrot  pleased  him  well. 

A  Turkey  carpet  was  his  lawn, 

Whereon  he  loved  to  bound, 
To  skip  and  gambol  like  a  fawn, 

And  swing  his  rump  around. 

His  frisking  was  at  evening  hours, 

For  then  he  lost  his  fear, 
Hut  most  before  approaching  showers, 

(  )i  when  a  storm  drew  near. 

Eight  years  and  five  round-rolling  moons 

1  le  thus  saw  steal  away, 
Dozing  out  all  his  idle  noons, 

And  every  night  at  play. 

I  kepi  him  for  his  humor's  sake, 

For  he  would  ott  beguile 
My  heart  of  thoughts  thai  made  it  ache, 

And  for<  e  me  to  a  smile. 

Bui  now  beneath  this  walnut  shade 

I  [e  finds  his  long  last  home, 
And  waits,  in  snug  concealmenl  laid, 

Till  gentler   I'uss  shall  come. 

He,  still  more  aged,  feels  the  shocks 

From  which  no  i  are  can  save, 
And,  partnei  on<  e  ol  Tiney's  box, 

M  u  si  soon  partake  his  grave. 


122  WILLIAM    COWPER. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE. 

William  Cowper  was  bom  at  Great  Berkhamstead,  November 
26,  1 73 1 .  His  father  was  the  rector  of  the  parish,  and  his  mother 
was  Ann  Donne  of  the  family  of  the  famous  John  Donne.  Cowper 
was  educated  at  a  private  school  and  afterwards  at  Westminster. 
It  was  intended  that  he  should  follow  the  profession  of  law,  and, 
after  the  completion  of  his  studies  at  Westminster,  he  entered  the 
Middle  Temple  and  was  articled  to  a  solicitor.  At  the  age  of 
twenty-two.  through  the  influence  of  his  uncle.  Major  Cowper,  he 
was  appointed  to  two  clerkships  in  the  House  of  Lords.  The 
excitement  brought  on  by  this  occurrence,  together  with  an  unhappy 
love  affair,  induced  an  attack  of  insanity,  from  which  he  suffered  for 
more  than  a  year.  In  1773  he  suffered  from  a  second  attack  of 
insanity,  which  continued  for  sixteen  months.  It  was  not  until 
1780,  when  in  his  fiftieth  year,  that  he  began  really  to  write  poetry. 
His  first  volume  was  published  in  17S2,  and  comprised,  besides 
several  shorter  pieces,  the  three  poems,  "Conversation,"  "Retire- 
ment," and  " Table  Talk,"  His  second  volume  appeared  in  1785, 
and  contained  "The  Task,"  "Tirocinium,"  and  the  ballad  of  "John 
Gilpin,"  which  had  alread)  become  famous  through  the  recitations 
of  one  Henderson,  an  actor.  Cowper's  translation  of  Homer  was 
completed  and  published  in  1791.  From  that  time  until  his  death 
in  1800  he  suffered  from  hopeless  dejection,  regarding  himself  as 
an  object  of  divine  wrath,  a  condemned  and  forsaken  outcast. 

Cowper  was  not  a  great  poet;  but  he  was  the  first  to  abandon 
the  mechanical  versification  and  conventional  phrases  of  the  arti- 
ficial  poets,  to  find  inspiration  and  guidance  in  nature.  It  may  be 
said  that  he  lacked  creative  power;  but  he  possessed  a  quickness  ol 
thought,  a  depth  of  feeling,  and  a  certain  manliness  and  sincerity, 
which  lifted  him  above  the  level  of  the  ordinary  versifiers  of  his 
time. 

Other  Poems  to  be  Read  :  The  Castaway  ;  John  Gilpin  ;  The  Task  ; 
The  Loss  of  the  Royal  George. 

References:  Southey's  Life  of  William  Cowper;  Cowper  (Knglish 
Men  of  Letters),  by  Gold  win  Smith;  Hazlitt's  English  Poets;  Macaulay's 
Essay  on  Moore's  Life  of  Byron  ;  Life  of  Cowper ■,  in  the  "Globe  Edition" 
of  his  works. 


Oliver  (Bofosmitb. 


^x>XKc 


THREE    PICTURES   FROM   "THE    DESERTED 

VILLAGE." 

Sweet  was  the  sound,  when  oft  at  evening's  close 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose. 
There  as  I  pass'd,  with  careless  steps  and  slow, 
The  mingling  notes  came  soften'd  from  below  : 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milkmaid  sung, 
The  sober  herd  that  low'd  to  meet  their  young, 
The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool, 
The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school, 
The  watch  dog's  voice  that  bay'd  the  whispering  wind, 
And  the  loud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant  mind  — 
These  all  in  sweet  contusion  sought  the  shade, 
And  fill'd  ea<  h  pause  the  nightingale  had  made. 
Bui  now  the  sounds  ot  population  fail, 
No  cheerful  murmurs  fluctuate  in  the  gale, 
No  busy  steps  the  grass-grown  footway  tread, 
For  all  the  bloomy  (lush  of  life  is  fled  — 
All  but  yon  widow'd,  solitary  thing, 
Thai  feebly  bends  beside  the  plashy  spring; 
She,  wretched  matron     -fore'd  in  age,  for  bread, 
To  strip  the  brook  with  mantling  cresses  spread, 
I  o  pick  her  wintry  t  i    fi  il  t  rom  the  I  horn, 
To  seek  her  nightly  shed,  and  weep  till  mom 


124  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 

She  only  left  of  all  the  harmless  train, 
The  sad  historian  of  the  pensive  plain  ! 

Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden  smiled,1 
And  still  where  many  a  garden-flower  grows  wild  ; 
There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 
The  village  preacher's1  modest  mansion  rose. 
A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear, 
And  passing2  rich  with  forty  pounds3  a  year; 
Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 
Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change,  his  place ; 
Unpractised  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power, 
By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour ; 
Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize, 
More  skilled  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 
His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train  ; 
He  chid  their  wanderings,  but  relieved  their  pain  : 
The  long-remembered  beggar  was  his  guest, 
Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast ; 
The  ruined  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 
Claimed  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  allowed ; 
The  broken  soldier,'  kindly  bade  to  stay, 
Sat  by  his  fire,  and  talked  the  night  away, 
Wept  o'er  his  wounds  or,  tales  of  sorrow  done, 
Shouldered  his  crutch  and  showed  how  fields  were  won. 
Pleased  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned  to  glow, 
And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe; 
Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 
I  lis  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 
And  e'en  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side; 
But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call, 
He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt  for  all ; 


PICTURES   FROM   "THE   DESERTED    VILLAGE."     125 

And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-Hedged  offspring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 

Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid, 
And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pain  by  turns  dismayed, 
The  reverend  champion  stood.     At  his  control 
Despair  and  anguish  tied  the  struggling  soul ; 
Comfort  came  down  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise, 
And  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered  praise. 

At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 
His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place: 
Truth  from  his  lips  prevailed  with  double  sway, 
And  fools  who  came  to  scoff  remained  to  pray. 
The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man, 
With  stead)'  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran  ; 
Even  children  followed  with  endearing  wile, 
And  plucked  his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile. 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  expressed; 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distressed  ; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs  were  given, 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 
A-  some  tall  cliff  that  lilts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm, 
Though  round  its  breast  the  lulling  clouds  are  spread, 

Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head.6 

r.i  sib]    yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the  way, 
With  blossomed  furze  unprofitably  gay, 
There  in  his  noisy  mansion, ';  skilled  to  rule, 
The  village  master  taught  his  little  g<  hool. 

A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stem  to  view; 

I  knew  him  well,  and  every  truant   knew; 


126  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

Well  had  the  boding7  tremblers  learned  to  trace 

The  clay's  disasters  in  his  morning  face ; 

Full  well  they  laughed  with  counterfeited  glee 

At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he; 

Full  well  the  busy  whisper  circling  round 

Conveyed  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frowned. 

Yet  he  was  kind,  or,  if  severe  in  aught, 

The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault ; 

The  village8  all  declared  how  much  he  knew  ; 

'Twas  certain  he  could  write,  and  cipher  too ; 

Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides9  presage, 

And  e'en  the  story  ran  that  he  could  gauge : 10 

In  arguing,  too,  the  parson  owned  his  skill ; 

For  e'en  though  vanquished,  he  could  argue  still  ; 

While  words  of  learned  length  and  thundering  sound 

Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around ; 

And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  the  wonder  grew 

That  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew. 

But  past  is  all  his  fame.     The  very  spot 
Where  many  a  time  he  triumphed  is  forgot. 


NOTES. 

i.  The  village  preacher.  —  "This  picture  of  the  village  pastor,"  says 
Irving,  "  which  was  taken  in  part  from  the  character  of  his  father,  embodied 
likewise  the  recollections  of  his  brother  Henry;  for  the  natures  of  the 
father  and  son  seem  to  have  been  identical.  .  .  .  To  us  the  whole  character 
seems  traced  as  it  were  in  an  expiatory  spirit ;  as  if,  conscious  of  his  own 
wandering  restlessness,  he  sought  to  humble  himself  at  the  shrine  of 
excellence  which  he  had  not  been  able  to  practise." 

2.  passing  rich.  Exceedingly  rich.  The  word  is  a  common  one  among 
the  poets.  "  Is  she  not  passing  fair?"  (Shakespeare,  "Two  Gentlemen  of 
Verona,"  Act  iv,  sc.  4);  "How  passing  sweet  is  solitude"  (Cowper, 
"  Retirement"). 


PICTURES   FROM  "  THE   DESERTED    VILLAGE."      127 

3.  forty  pounds.  In  his  dedication  of  "The  Traveller,"  Goldsmith 
refers  to  his  brothel  Henry  as  "a  man  who,  despising  fame  and  fortune, 
has  retired  early  to  happiness  and  obscurity,  with  an  income  of  forty  pounds 
a  year." 

4.  broken  soldier.     See  "The  Soldier's  Dream,"  Campbell. 

"  And  fain  was  their  war-broken  soldier  to  stay !  " 

5.  The  simile  included  in  these  four  lines,  says  Lord  Lytton,  is  trans- 
lated almost  literally  from  a  poem  by  the  Abbe  de  Chaulieu,  who  died  in 
1720.  "Every  one  must  own,"  adds  he,  "that,  in  copying,  Goldsmith 
wonderfully  improved  the  original." 

6.  The  village  master. — The  portrait  here  drawn  of  the  village 
schoolmaster  is  from  Goldsmith's  own  teacher,  Thomas  Byrne,  with  whom 
he  was  placed  when  six  years  old.  "Byrne  had  been  educated  for  a 
pedagogue,"  says  Irving,  "but  had  enlisted  in  the  army,  served  abroad 
during  the  wars  ol  Qui  en  Anne's  time,  and  risen  to  the  rank  of  quarter- 
master of  a  regiment  in  Spain.  At  the  return  of  peace,  having  110  longer 
exercise  for  the  sword,  he  resumed  the  ferule,  and  drilled  the  urchin  popu- 
lace of  Lissoy, 

"There  are  certain  whimsical  trails  in  the  character  of  Byrne,  not  given 
in  the  foregoing  sketch.  He  was  fond  ol  talking  of  his  vagabond  wander- 
ings  m    foreign    lands,  and    had    brought   with   him    from   the  wars  a  world 

of  campaigning  stories  ol  win.  1>  be  was  generally  the  hero,  and  which  he 
would  deal  forth  to  his  wondering  scholars  when  he  ought  to  have  been 
teaching  them  their  lessons.    These  travellers'  tales  had  a  powerful  elicit 

upon  th>-  vivid  imagination  of  Goldsmith,  and  awakened  an  unconquerable 

passion  for  wandering  and  seeking  adventure. 

"Byrne  was,  moreover,  "I  a  romantii  vein,  and  exceedingly  supersti- 
tious, lie  was  deeply  versed  in  the  fairy  superstitions  which  abound  in 
Ire  Line),  all  which  he  professed  implicitly  t"  believe.  Under  his  tuition 
I  .  ildsmith  s I.e.  am.-  almost  as  great  a  proficient  in  fairy  lore." 

noisy  mansion.     The   old-l :   school-room   was  a    noisy   place,   the 

pupils  studying  theii  lessons  aloud,  and  bul  little  <  are  being  taken  to  secun 
quietn<  m  at  any  time. 

7.  boding.     Foreboding  ;  that  which  is  about  to  happen.     From 

/tan,  to  announi  e,  to  f<  iretell. 

8.  village.     ViUag<  1  i. 

9.  terms  and  tides.    Times  and  seasons,    presage.    Foreknow.    I 1 

re,  before,  and     •  to,  to  perci 

10.  gauge.     Measure  liquids.     The  humor  in  1 1 1 1  -■  and   in  some  othei 
.  ins  in  these  verses  is  too  apparent  to  rcquin  commenl 


12S  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 


BIOGRAPHICAL     NOTE. 

Oliver  Goldsmith  was  born  at  Pallas,  county  of  Longford, 

Ireland,  on  the  loth  of  November,  1728.  He  was  educated  at  Trinity 
College,  Dublin,  and  afterwards  studied  medicine  at  Edinburgh  and 
at  Leyden.  After  travelling  on  foot  through  portions  of  Western 
Europe,  he  made  his  way  to  London,  where  he  was  in  turn  assistant 
to  a  chemist,  usher  in  a  school  at  Peckham,  and  literary  hack  for 
one  of  the  leading  monthly  publications.  He  afterwards  contributed 
many  articles,  both  in  prose  and  poetry,  to  the  leading  periodicals  of 
the  time.  He  wrote  "  The  Traveller"  in  1764,  and  "The  Deserted 
Village"  and  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  in  1770.  He  died  in  his 
chambers  in  Brick  Court,  London.  April  4,  1774.  For  a  lull  account 
of  his  life,  read  Macaulay's  Essay  on  Oliver  Goldsmith. 

"The  naturalness  and  ease  of  Goldsmith's  poetry,"  says  Edward 
Dowden,  "are  those  of  an  accomplished  craftsman.  His  verse, 
which  flows  towards  the  close  of  the  period  with  such  a  gentle  yet 
steady  advance,  is  not  less  elaborated  than  that  of  Pope ;  and  Gold- 
smith conceived  his  verse  more  in  paragraphs  than  in  couplets. 
His  artless  words  were,  each  one,  delicately  chosen;  his  simple 
constructions  were  studiously  sought."  And  Sir  Walter  Scott  said 
of  him  :  "It  would  be  difficult  to  point  out  one  among  the  English 
poets  less  likely  to  be  excelled  in  his  own  style.  Possessing  much 
of  Pope's  versification  without  the  monotonous  structure  of  his  lines  ; 
rising  sometimes  to  the  swell  and  fulness  of  Dryden,  without  his 
inflections;  delicate  and  masterly  in  his  descriptions;  graceful  in 
one  of  the  greatest  graces  of  poetry,  its  transitions  ;  alike  successful 
in  his  sportive  or  grave,  his  playful  or  melancholy  mood ;  he  may 
long  bid  defiance  to  the  numerous  competitors  whom  the  friendship 
or  flattery  of  the  present  age  is  so  hastily  arraying  against  him." 

Other  Poems  to  be  Read:  The  Traveller;  the  rest  of  The  Deserted 
Village;    Retaliation. 

References  :  living's  Life  of  Goldsmith  ;  Forster's  Life  and  Times 
of  Oliver  Goldsmith;  Macaulay's  Essay  on  Goldsmith;  Thackeray's  Eng- 
lish Humorists  of  the  Eighteenth  Century;  De  Quincey's  Eighteenth 
Cent/try;  Ha/litt's  English  Poets;  Goldsmith  (English  Men  of  Letters), 
by  William  Black. 


ftbomas  <5ra\>. 


-OO^OO- 


THE    BARD. 


i.  i. 


••  Ki  in  seize  thee,  ruthless  King! 
Confusion  Oil  thy  banners  wait  ; 
Tho'  tanned  by  Conquest's  crimson  wing,1 

They  mock  the  air  with  idle  state. - 
Helm,  nor  hauberk's  :;  twisted  mail, 
Nor  e'en  thy  virtues,  Tyrant,  shall  avail 
To  save  thy  secret  soul  from  nightly  I  ears, 
From  Cambria's  '  curse,  from  Cambria's  tears!" 

Such  were  the  sounds  that  o'er  the  crested  pride 
<  >!  the  first  Edward  scattered  wild  dismay, 

As  down  the  steep  ol  Snowdon's  6  shaggy  side 
lb-  wound  wiih  toilsome  march  his  Ion-  array. 

Stout  Gloster6  Stood  aghast  in  speechless  trance: 

'To  arms!''  cried  Mortimer,"  and  couched  his  quivering 
lance. 


(  '"  a  rock8  whose  haughty  brow 
Frowns  o'er  cold  Conway's  foaming  Hood, 

Robed  iii  the  sable  garb  oJ  woe, 
With  ha  rgar(j  eye  ,  the  poel  stood, 

1 29 


130  THOMAS   GRA  )'. 

(Loose  his  board,  and  hoary  hair 
Streamed,  like  a  meteor,  to  the  troubled  air9) 
And  with  a  master's  hand,  and  prophet's  fire, 
Struck  the  deep  sorrows  of  his  lyre.10 

"  Hark,  how  each  giant-oak,  and  desert  cave, 
Sighs  to  the  torrent's  awful  voice  beneath  ! 
O'er  thee,  oh  King !  their  hundred  arms  they  wave, 

Revenge  on  thee  in  hoarser  murmurs  breathe  ; 
Vocal  no  more,  since  Cambria's  fatal  day, 
To  high-born  Hoel's  n  harp,  or  soft  Llewellyn's  lay. 

i-  3- 

"  Cold  is  Cadwallo's  tongue, 

That  hushed  the  stormy  main  : 12 
Brave  Urien  sleeps  upon  his  craggy  bed : 

Mountains,  ye  mourn  in  vain 

Modred,  whose  magic  song 
Made  huge  Plinlimmon  13  bow  his  cloud-topt  head. 

On  dreary  Arvon's  shore14  they  lie, 
Smeared  with  gore,  and  ghastly  pale  : 
Far,  far  aloof  th'  affrighted  ravens  sail ; 

The  famished  eagle  15  screams,  and  passes  by. 
Dear  lost  companions  of  my  tuneful  art, 

Dear  as  the  light  that  visits  these  sad  eyes, 
Dear  as  the  ruddy  drops  that  warm  my  heart,10 

Ye  died  amidst  your  dying  country's  cries  — 
No  more  I  weep.     They  do  not  sleep. 

On  yonder  cliffs,  a  griesly  band, 
I  see  them  sit,17  they  linger  yet, 

Avengers  of  their  native  land  : 
With  me  in  dreadful  harmony  they  join, 
And  weave  with  bloody  hands  the  tissue  of  thy  line. 


THE   BARD.  131 

II.    I. 

"  Weave  the  warp,  and  weave  the  woof,18 
The  winding  sheet  of  Edward's  race. 

Give  ample  room,  and  verge  enough 
The  characters  of  hell  to  trace. 
Mark  the  year,  and  mark  the  night, 
When  Severn  shall  re-echo  with  affright 
The  shrieks  of  death,  thro'  Berkley's  roof  that  ring, 
Shrieks  of  an  agonizing  king  !  VJ 

She-wolf  of  France,20  with  unrelenting  fangs, 
That  tear'st  the  bowels  of  thy  mangled  mate, 

From  thee  be  horn,  who  o'er  thy  country  hangs 
The  scourge  of  heaven.-1     What  terrors  round  him  wait! 
Amazement  in  his  van,  with  Flight  combined, 
And  Sorrow's  laded  form,  and  Solitude  behind. 


II.  2. 

"  Mighty  victor,  mighty  lord  ! 
Low  on  his  funeral  couch  he  lies!22 

No  pitying  heart,  no  eye,  afford 
A  tear  to  grace  his  obsequies. 

Is  the  sable  warrior28  lied  ? 
Thy  son  is  gone.      lb'  rests  among  the  dead. 
The  swarm,  that  in  thy  noontide  beam  were  born. 
tie  to  salute  the  rising  mom. 

I   iir  laughs  the  morn,  and  sofl  the  zephyr  blows,2* 
While  proudly  riding  o'er  the  azure  realm 

In  gallant  trim  the  gilded  vessel 
Youth  on  the  prow,  and  Pleasure  at  the  helm  ; 
irdless  ol  tin-  sweeping  whirlwind's  sway, 

That,  hushed  in  grim  repose,  expects  his  evening  prey. 


132  THOMAS   GRA  V. 

II.  3. 

"  Fill  high  the  sparkling  bowl, 
The  rich  repast  prepare  ; 

Reft  of  a  crown,  he  yet  may  share  the  feast : 
Close  by  the  regal  chair 

Fell  Thirst  and  Famine  scowl  25 

A  baleful  smile  upon  their  baffled  guest. 
Heard  ye  the  din  of  battle2*3  bray, 

Lance  to  lance,  and  horse  to  horse  ? 

Long  years  of  havoc  urge  their  destined  course, 
And  thro'  the  kindred  squadrons  mow  their  way. 

Ye  towers  of  Julius,27  London's  lasting  shame, 
With  many  a  foul  and  midnight  murder  fed, 

Revere  his  consort's  faith,  his  father's  fame, 
And  spare  the  meek  usurper's28  holy  head. 
Above,  below,  the  rose  of  snow, 

Twined  with  her  blushing  foe,29  we  spread: 
The  bristled  boar30  in  infant-gore 

Wallows  beneath  the  thorny  shade. 
Now,  brothers,  bending  o'er  the  accursed  loom, 
Stamp  we  our  vengeance  deep,  and  ratify  his  doom. 

III.  1. 

"  Fdward,31  lo  !  to  sudden  fate 
(Weave  we  the  woof.     The  thread  is  spun.) 

Half  of  thy  heart  w  we  consecrate. 
(The  web  is  wove.     The  work  is  done.) 
Stay,  oh  stay  !  nor  thus  forlorn 
Leave  me  unblessed,  unpitied,  here  to  mourn : 
In  yon  bright  track,  that  fires  the  western  skies, 
They  melt,  they  vanish  from  my  eyes. 


THE  BARD.  133 

But  oh  !  what  solemn  scenes  on  Snowdon's  height 
Descending  slow  their  glittering  skirts  unroll  ? 

Visions  of  glory,  spare  my  aching  sight !  ^ 
Ye  unborn  ages,  crowd  not  on  my  soul ! 

No  more  our  long-lost  Arthur  we  bewail. 

All  hail,  ye  genuine  kings,  Britannia's  issue,  hail ! 

III.   2. 

"  Girt  with  many  a  baron  bold 
Sublime  their  starry  fronts  they  rear; 

And  gorgeous  dames,  and  statesmen  old 
In  bearded  majesty,  appear. 
In  the  midst  a  form  divine  !:;1 
I  [er  eye  proclaims  her  of  the  Briton-line; 
Her  lion-port,  her  awe-commanding  face,85 
Attempered  sweet  to  virgin-grace. 
What  strings  symphonious  tremble  in  the  air, 

What  strains  of  vocal  transport  round  her  play. 
Hear  from  the  grave,  great  Taliessin,86  hear; 

They  breathe  a  soul  to  animate  thy  clay. 
Bright  Rapture  calls,  and  soaring  as  she  sings, 
Waves  in  the  eye  of  heaven  her  many  colored  wings. 

in.  3. 

"  Tin-  verse  adorn  again 

!•  ier<  i-  War,  and  faithful  I  .ove,87 
And  Truth  severe,  by  fairy  Fiction  drest. 

In  buskined  measures88  move 
Pale  Grief,  and  pleasing  Tain, 
With  Horror,  tyranl  ol  the  throbbing  breast. 

A  voice,  as  of  the  1  herub  1  hoir, 
( lales  l lom  blooming  Eden  bear ; 


134  7V/ (KM. IS    GRA  Y. 

And  distant  warblings  lessen  on  my  ear, 

That  lost  in  long  futurity  expire. 
Fond,39  impious  man,  think'st  thou  yon  sanguine  cloud, 

Raised  by  thy  breath,  has  quenched  the  orb  of  day  ? 
To-morrow  he  repairs 40  the  golden  flood, 

And  warms  the  nations  with  redoubled  ray. 
Enough  for  me ;  with  joy  I  see 

The  different  doom  our  fates  assign. 
Be  thine  despair,  and  sceptred  care ; 

To  triumph,  and  to  die,  are  mine." 
He  spoke,  and  headlong  from  the  mountain's  height 
Deep  in  the  roaring  tide  he  plunged  to  endless  night. 


NOTES 


This  poem  was  published  in  1757.  "  It  is  founded,"  says  Cray,  "on  a 
tradition  current  in  Wales  that  Edward  I.,  when  lie  completed  the  con- 
quest of  that  country,  ordered  all  the  bards  that  fell  into  his  hands  to  be 
put  to  death."  The  argument  is  as  follows:  "The  army  of  Edward  I.,  as 
they  march  through  a  deep  valley,  and  approach  Mount  Snowdon,  are 
suddenly  stopped  by  the  appearance  of  a  venerable  figure  seated  on  the 
summit  of  an  inaccessible  rock,  who,  witli  a  voice  more  than  human, 
reproaches  the  king  with  all  the  desolation  and  misery  which  he  had 
brought  on  his  country;  foretells  the  misfortunes  of  the  Norman  race,  and 
with  prophetic  spirit  declares  that  all  his  cruelty  shall  never  extinguish  the 
noble  ardor  of  poetic  genius  in  this  island;  and  that  men  shall  never  be 
wanting  to  celebrate  true  virtue  and  valor  in  immortal  strains,  to  expose 
vice  and  infamous  pleasure,  and  boldly  censure  tyranny  and  oppression. 
His  song  ended,  he  precipitates  himself  from  the  mountain,  and  is  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  riser  that  rolls  at  its  feet." 

The  tradition  upon  which  the  poem  is  said  to  be  founded,  if  it  ever  had 
any  existence,  is  in  great  part  mythical.  Edward  I.  did  indeed  conquer 
Wales,  but  there  is  no  evidence  that  he  massacred  or  even  persecuted  the 
Welsh  bards.  A  hundred  years  after  his  time  their  number  and  influence 
had  not  been  diminished. 

This  poem  is  a  good  example  of  an  English  ode  constructed  strictly 
after  Greek  models.     It  will  be  observed  that  it  is  written,  not  in  uniform 


THE   BARD.  135 

stanzas,  hut  in  three  uniform  parts,  each  of  which  contains  three  stanzas. 
The  first  of  these  parts  is  called  the  Strophe,  or  Turn;  the  second,  the 
Antistropke,  or  Counter-turn;  the  third,  the  Epode,  or  After-song.  The 
origin  of  these  terms  may  be  traced  to  the  use  of  the  ode  as  an  important 
part  of  the  entertainment  presented  in  the  ancient  Greek  theatre.  The 
Strophe  was  sung  while  the  chorus  moved  from  one  side  of  the  orchestra 
to  the  other;  the  Antistrophe  while  the  reversed  movement  was  being 
made;  and  the  Epodos  after  the  singers  had  returned  to  their  original 
position.  The  accurate  perception  of  harmony  and  the  relationship  be- 
tween the  different  parts  of  the  choral  ode,  which  enabled  the  Greeks  to 
enter  thoroughly  into  its  enjoyment,  is  unknown  among  moderns.  Hence, 
there  have  been  but  few  attempts  in  the  English  language  to  construct 
odes  strictly  after  the  Creek  model.  Most  of  our  odes  are  poems  relating 
to  themes  of  greater  or  less  varying  length,  and  divided  into  many  irregular 
stan/as  of  varying  lengths  and  metres.  Such  are  Dryden's  "  Alexander's 
Ode  to  a  Nightingale,"  and  Wordsworth's  "  Ode  on  the 
Intimations  of  Immortality,"  all  of  which  are  odes  in  form  and  style,  although 
differing  from  their  (.reek  prototype  and  from  one  another.  Of  all  English 
i,  none  have  worked  so  thoroughly  on  the  ancient  model  as  Gray, 
although  to  Congreve  must  be  given  the  honor  of  being  the  first  to  attempt 
tlii-  spe<  ies  of  English  composition. 

i.   crimson  wing.     Explain  t-he  meaning  of  this  line. 

2.  Compare  this  line  with  Shakespeare,  "  King  John,"  Act  v,  so.  I  : 

"  Mocking  the  air  with  colors  idly  spread." 

3.  hauberk.  Iron,  A.-S.  heals,  the  neck,  and  beorgan,  to  protect. 
"I  he  hauberk  was  a  texture  ol  steel  ringlets,  or  rings  interwoven,  forming 

.■   ..1   mail  that  sat  close  to  the  body,  and  adapted  itself  to  everj 
motion."    -  Gi  ay. 

4.  Cambria.  Wales.  An  ancient  legend  says  it  was  so  called  from 
Camber,  the  son  of  Brute.  This  legendary  king  of  Britain  divided  his 
dominions  among  his  three  sons:   to  Locrin   he  gave  the  southern  part 

Englai  vhich  u;i,  called   Loegria;   to  Albanacl  the  northern  (Scot- 

land), Albania;  and  to  Camber,  the  w<  st<  rn  1  Wal<  i),  Cambria. 

5.  Snowdon.  "Snowdon  was  a  name  given  by  the  Saxons  to  thai 
mountainous  trad  which  the  Welsh  themselves  call  Cragium-eryri.  It 
included  all  the  highlands  of  Caernarvonshire  and   Merionethshire  as  fai 

er  Conway."    -  Cray.     It  h  is  in  the  spring  of  [283  that  the 
army  of  Edward  I.  fori  ed  it.  way  through  the  d<  fill  s  of  these  mountains, 
shaggy.     See  "  |  ,y(  idas,"  '-,  \ : 

"  Nor  on  the  ip  Ol   Mon. 1  hi(;li  " 


136  THOMAS    GRAY. 

6.  Gloster.  "  Gilbert  de  Clare,  surnamcd  the  Red,  Earl  of  Gloucester 
ami  Hereford,  son-in-law  to  King  Edward." — Gray. 

7.  Mortimer.  Edward,  or  Edmond,  de  Mortimer,  Lord  of  Wigmorc, 
one  of  King  lid  ward's  ablest  leaders.  It  was  by  one  of  his  knights  that 
the  Welsh  prince  Llewellyn  was  slain  in  December,  1282. 

8.  rock.  One  of  the  heights  of  Snowdon,  probably  Pen-maen-mawr, 
the  extreme  northern  point  of  the  range,  a  few  miles  from  the  mouth  of 
the  Conway  River. 

9.  "  The  image  was  taken  from  a  well  known  picture  of  Raphael, 
representing  the  Supreme  Being  in  the  vision  of  Ezekiel.  There  are  two 
of  these  paintings  (both  believed  originals),  one  at  Florence,  the  other  in 
the  Duke  of  Orleans's  collection  at  Paris.1'  —  Gray. 

10.  Explain  the  meaning  of  this  line. 

11.  Hoel.  A  Welsh  prince  and  famous  bard,  some  of  whose  poems 
are  still  extant.  Cadwallo  and  Urien,  named  below,  were  other  celebrated 
bards.  The  name  of  Modred  is  not  so  well  known;  it  is  possible  that 
Gray  refers  to  "the  famous  Myrddin  ab  Morvyn,  called  Merlyn  the  Wild, 
a  disciple  of  Taliessin — the  form  of  the  name  being  changed  for  the  sake 
of  euphony."  It  is  not  entirely  clear  whether  the  Llewellyn  mentioned 
here  was  a  bard,  or  the  famous  but  unfortunate  prince  who  lost  his  life  in 
tin-  war  with  King  Edward.  (See  note  7,  above.)  Is  it  the  lay  sung  in 
memory  of  mild  Llewellyn?     Or  is  it  the  lay  which  soft  Llewellyn  sang? 

12.  hushed  the  stormy  main.     Shakespeare  says: 

"  The  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song, 
And  certain  stars  shot  madly  from  their  spheres, 
To  hear  the  sea-maid's  music." 

—  Midsummer  Sight's  Dream,  Act  ii,  sc.  I. 

13.  Plinlimmon.  A  group  of  lofty  mountains  in  Wales.  The  name  is 
probably  a  corruption  of  Pum-lumon,  "the  lire-beacons,"  so-called  because 
there  was  a  beacon  on  each  of  the  five  peaks  composing  the  group. 

14.  Arvon's  shore.  Caernarvon,  or  Caer  yu  Arvon,  means  the  camp 
in  Arvon.  The  shore  referred  to  is  that  of  Caernarvon,  on  the  mainland, 
opposite  the  island  of  Anglesey. 

15.  eagle.  "  Camden  ami  others  observe  that  eagles  used  annually  to 
build  their  aerie  among  the  rocks  of  Snowdon,  which  from  thence  (as 
some  think)  were  named  by  the  Welsh,  Craigian-eryri,  or  the  crags  of  the 
eagles.  At  this  day  (I  am  told),  the  highest  point  of  Snowdon  is  called 
'  the  Eagle's  Nest.' "  —  Gray. 

16.  Dear  as  the  ruddy  drops.     Shakespeare  has  it : 

"  As  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  my  sad  heart." 

—  Julius  Ccesar,  Act  ii,  sc.  1. 


THE   BARD.  137 

17.  I  see  them  sit.     See  Milton's  "  Lycidas,"  52: 

"  On  the  steep 
Where  your  old  bards,  the  Druids  lie." 

griesly.     Grisly.     From  the  k.-'&.grisli,  dreadful. 

18.  Weave  the  warp,  etc.  As  the  Fates  were  represented  by  the 
ancient  Greeks  as  spinning  the  destinies  of  men,  so  the  Norns  in  the  Norse 
mythology  arc  said  to  weave  the  destinies  of  the  heroes  who  die  in  battle. 

"  Glittering  lances  are  the  loom, 

Where  the  dusky  warp  we  strain,  — 
Shafts  for  shuttles,  dipt  in  gore, 

Shoot  the  trembling  cords  along; 
Swords  that  once  a  monarch  bore, 
Keep  the  tissue  close  and  strong." 
—  J In-  Fatal  Sisters,  translated  by  Gray,  from  the  Norse. 

19.  "Edward  the  Second,  cruelly  butchered  in  Berkeley  Castle."  — 
Gray.  The  murder  •<(  the  king  occurred  on  the  night  of  September  21, 
1  527.  Berkeley  <  astle  stands  at  the  southeast  end  of  the  town  of  Berkeley, 
about  one  and  one-half  miles  from  the  Severn  River.  It  was  built  before  the 
time  of  Henry  II.,  and  is  still  inhabited  by  a  descendant  of  its  founders. 

20.  She-wolf  of  France.  Isabel  >>f  France,  tin-  wife  "I  Edward  II. 
Shakespeare  applies  this  epithet  t<>  Margaret,  the  queen  of  Henry  VI.: 

"  She-wolf  of  France,  but  woi  ie  than  wolves  ol  France." 

—  3  Henry  17. ,  Act  i,  sc.  4. 

21.  Edward   III,  the  son  "f  Queen   Isabel,  proved   indeed  to  be  a 

Frani  e. 

22.  "Death  "l  thai  king  (1  Iward  [II.),  abandoned  by  his  children, 
and  even  robbed  in  his  las)  moments  bj  his  courtiers  and  his  mistress."  — 

T. 

23.  sable  warrior.  "Edward  the  Black  Prince,  dead  some  time 
!■•  1  ire  his  fathei ■"    -  Gray. 

24.  I  he  magnifii  •  ni  e  ■■!  tie  in  }|  years  of  Ri<  hard  1  [.'s  r<  ign  1-  figured 
m  this  and  the  fi Mow ing  hie  ~. 

25.  Thirst  and  Famine  scowl.  When  Richard  II.  'lied  in  prison, 
hi.  body  was  i"  si.  I  nd  "  the  fai  e  was  lefl  un<  "\<  red,  i" 
ne  •  1  rumors  thai  he  had  l"  1  n  assassinated  by  In,  k<  •  pi  r,  Sir  Piers  Exon." 
Bui  tie  oldi  1  writi             '  thai  he  was  starved  i"  death. 

26.  din  of  battle.     "  Ruinous  wars  of  York  and  Lancasl  Gray. 
bray.     From  '  !r.  bracho,  i"  1  lash, 

27.  towers  of  Julius.  "The  oldest  part  ■■(  1h.1t  jtructun  (the  rowei 
of  London)  h  vul  tributed  t"  [ulius  I  sesar."  —  Gi  ay. 


13S  THOMAS    GRA  V. 

28.  meek  usurper.  "Henry  the  Sixth,  very  near  being  canonized. 
The  line  of  Lancaster  had  no  right  of  inheritance  to  the  crown." —  Gray. 
The  references  in  the  preceding  line  are  to  Henry's  "consort,"  Queen 
Margaret,  and  his  father,  Henry  V. 

29.  The  rose  of  snow,  twined  with  her  blushing  foe.  The  reference 
is  to  the  union  of  the  houses  of  York  and  Lancaster  after  the  War  of  the 
Roses. 

30.  bristled  boar.  Richard  111.,  so  called  from  his  badge  of  a  silver 
boar.      So  Shakespeare  : 

"  In  the  sty  of  the  most  deadly  boar." 

—  Richard  III.,  Act  iv,  sc.  5. 

"  The  wretched,  bloody,  and  usurping  boar 
That  spoiled  your  summer  fields  and  fruitful  vines, 
Swills  your  warm  blood  like  wash." 

—  Ibid,  Act  v,  sc.  2. 

31.  The  bard's  vision  of  the  future  has  come  to  an  end,  and  he  again 
addresses  the  king. 

32.  Half  of  thy  heart.  "Eleanor  of  Castile  died  a  few  years  after 
the  conquest  of  Wales.  The  heroic  proof  she  gave  of  her  affection  for  her 
lord  is  well  known."  —  Cray. 

Tennyson,  in  the  "  Dream  of  Fair  Women,"  speaks  of  Queen   Kleanor 

as 

"  Her  who  knew  that  Love  can  vanquish  Death, 

Who  kneeling,  with  one  arm  about  her  king, 

Drew  forth  the  poison  with  her  balmy  breath, 

Sweet  as  new  buds  in  spring." 

33.  The  bard's  visions  arc  resumed,  and  he  sees  the  glories  which  were 
ushered  in  with  the  advent  of  the  Tudor  line.  Henry  VII. 's  paternal 
grandfather  was  Sir  Owen  Tewdwr  of  Pernnyuydd,  in  Anglesey,  whose 
mother  was  of  royal  British  blood.  "Loth  Merlin  and  Taliessin  had 
prophesied  that  the  Welsh  should  regain  their  sovereignty  over  this  island; 
which  seemed  to  be  accomplished  in  the  house  of  Tudor." —  Gray. 

34.  a  form  divine.     Elizabeth. 

35.  awe-commanding  face.  "  Speed,  relating  an  audience  given  by 
Queen  Elizabeth  to  Paul  Dzialiuski,  ambassador  of  Poland,  says:  'Ami 
thus  she,  lion-like  rising,  daunted  the  malapert  orator  no  less  with  her 
stately  port  and  majestical  deporture,  than  with  the  tartnesse  of  her  princlie 
cheekes.'  " —  Gray. 

36.  Taliessin  was  a  famous  Welsh  bard  who  flourished  in  the  sixth 
century.  It  is  said  that  some  of  his  works  are  still  preserved  by  his 
countrymen. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE,.  139 

37.  See  "  Faerie  Qucene,"  1  : 

"  Fierce  warres  and  faithful  love  shall  moralize  my  song." 

38.  buskined  measures.  .The  tragic  drama  as  represented  by  Shake- 
speare. So  Milton  speaks  ("  II  Penseroso,"  102)  of  the  "buskind  stage." 
The  buskin  was  the  Greek  cothurnus,  a  boot  with  high  heels,  designed  to 
add  stature  and  dignity  to  the  tragic  actor. 

39.  Fond.  Foolish.  This  is  the  original  meaning  of  the  word,  and  is 
s  1  used  1  >y  the  1  ilder  pi  lets. 

40.  he  repairs.     So  Milton: 

"  Sinks  the  day-star  in  tin"  ocean  lied, 
And  yet  anon  repairs  his  drooping  head." 

— <«>x*:oo — 

BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

Thomas  Gray  was  bom  in  Cornhill,  London,  December  26th, 
1710.  Tli rough  the  help  of  his  mother's  brother,  who  was  Assistant- 
Master  at  that  famous  school,  he  received  his  primary  education  at 
Eton,  and  in  1735  entered  St.  Peter's  College,  Cambridge.  In  1738 
he  I'tt  the  University  without  taking  a  degree,  intending  to  study 

law  at  the  Inner  Temple.  Soon  afterwards,  however,  he  accom- 
panied   Horace    Walpole    on   a   tour   through    France  and    Italy,  and 

spent  thi  1  part  of  two  years  in  Paris,  Kome.  and  Florence. 

I 'pon  his  return  to  England,  rinding  himself  possessed  of  a  life-long 
competent  ■.,  he  resolved  to  give  up  the  law  and  devote  himself 
entin  elf-culture.     He  settled  al  Cambridge,  and  gave  all  his 

time  to  study  and  to  the  cultivation  of  his  mind.  The  firsl  ol  his 
poems  to  appear  in  print  was  the  "Ode  on  a  Distant  Prospecl  oi 
Eton   College,'1   published    in    1747.      Mis   "Elegy   Written    in   a 

Countl*}   I   Inn  •  hyard  "  was  not   published  until    1750,  although  it   had 

been  written  and  handed  aboul  in  manuscript  several  years  before. 

The  po  t  of   roel-l.aiiie.ite  v.. i  ,  ..Hi  Mil   him  in    1757.  on   the  death  of 

Colley  Cibber ;  but  he  did  not  accept  it.  In  171.:-;  he  was  appointed 
Professor  of  Modem  lli  tor)  at  Cambridge,  bul  the  state  ol  his 
health  was  such  thai  he  was  nevei   permitted  to  lecture.     He  died, 

[uly  2C/th,    1771.  at   tin-  age  ot   hit;,    tour. 

••  1 1.    ■  1    certain!)  the  mo  I  accomplished  man  ol  his  time,'1 
Hales,  "and  was   lomething  much  more  than  accomplished.     His 
[earning  was  not  onl)  wide  bul  deep;  hi.  taste,  it  perhaps  too  las- 


HO  THOMAS    GRAY. 

tidious,  was  pure  and  thorough;   his  genius  was  of  no  mean  degree 
or  order;  his  affections  were  of  the  truest  and  sincerest.  ...     His 

poems  are  works  of  refinement  rather  than  of  passion  ;  but  yet  they 
are  inspired  with  genuine  sentiment.  They  are  no  doubt  extremely 
artificial  in  form  ;  the  weight  of  their  author's  reading  somewhat 
depresses  their  originality;  he  can  with  difficulty  escape  from  his 
books  to  himself;  but  yet  there  is  in  him  a  genuine  poetical  spirit. 
His  poetry,  however  elaborated,  is  sincere  and  truthful.  If  the 
exterior  is  what  Horace  might  have  called  over-filed  and  polished 
the  thought  is  mostly  of  the  simplest  and  naturalest." 

Matthew  Arnold  says  :  "Gray's  production  was  scanty,  and  scanty 
it  could  not  but  be.  Even  what  he  produced  was  not  always  pure 
in  diction,  true  in  evolution.  Still,  with  whatever  drawbacks,  he  is 
alone  or  almost  alone  in  his  age.  Gray  said  himself  that  the  style 
he  aimed  at  was  'extreme  conciseness  of  expression,  yet  pure,  per- 
spicuous, and  musical.1  Compared,  not  with  the  work  of  the  great 
masters  of  the  golden  ages  of  poetry,  but  with  the  poetry  of  his 
own  contemporaries  in  general,  Gray  may  be  said  to  have  reached, 
in  his  style,  the  excellence  at  which  he  aimed." 

Cowper  writes,  "  I  have  been  reading  Gray's  works,  and  think 
him  the  only  poet  since  Shakespeare  entitled  to  the  character  of 
sublime."' 

Lowell  says :  "  Gray,  if  we  may  believe  the  commentators,  has 
not  an  idea,  scarcely  an  epithet,  that  he  can  call  his  own,  and  yet  he 
is,  in  the  best  sense,  one  of  the  classics  of  English  literature." 

And  Sir  James  Mackintosh  says:  "Of  all  English  poets  he  was 
the  most  finished  artist.  1  It-  attained  the  highest  degree  of  splendor 
of  which  poetic  style  seemed  to  be  capable.  It  may  be  added  that 
he  deserves  the  comparatively  trifling  praise  of  having  been  the 
most  learned  poet  since  Milton." 

Other  Poems  to  be  Read:  Elegy  Written  in  a  Country  Churchyard; 
On  a  Distant  Prospect  of  Eton  College;  The  Progress  of  Poesy;  Ode  on 
Spring. 

REFERENCES:  Johnson's  Lives  of  tin'  English  J'octs  ;  Cray  (Knglish 
Men  of  Letters),  by  Edmund  Gosse;  Ha/.litt's  Lectures  on  the  English 
Poets  ;  Roscoe's  Essays. 


Hleyanfcer  pope. 


-ooj^jo0- 


FROM    THE    "ESSAY    ON    CRITICISM." 

Some  to  Conceit '  alone  their  taste  confine, 

And  glitt'ring  thoughts  struck  out  at  ev'ry  line  ; 

Pleas'd  with  a  work  where  nothing's  just  or  fit;2 

One  glaring  Chaos  and  wild  heap  of  wit.:j 

Poets,  like  painters,  thus,  unskiU'd  to  trace 

The  naked  nature  and  the  living  grace, 

With  gold  and  jewels  cover  ev'ry  part, 

And  hide  with  ornaments  their  want  of  art. 

True  wit  is  nature  to  advantage  dress'd  ; 

What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  express'd  ;  ' 

Something,  whose  truth  convine'd  at  sight  we  find, 

That  gives  us  hack  the  image  of  our  mind. 

As  shades  more  sweetly  recommend  the  light, 

So  modest  plainness  sets  off  sprightly  wit. 

For  works  may  have  more  wit  than  does  'em  good, 

As  bodies  perish  through  excess  of  blood. 

Others  for  Language  all  their  care  express, 
And  value  books,  as  women  men,6  for  dress: 
Their  praise  is  still,  — the  style  is  excellent  ; 

The  sense,  they  humbly  take  upon  Content.6 

Words  are  like  leaves;    and  where  they  most  abound, 

Mmli  fruil  "i    i  H  e  beneath  is  rarely  found  : 
False  eloquent  e,  like  the  prismatic  glass, 

in 


II-  ALEXANDER  POPE. 

In  gaudy  colors  spreads  on  ev'ry  place; 

The  face  of  nature  we  no  more  survey, 

All  glares  alike,  without  distinction  gay  : 

But  true  expression,  like  th'  unchanging  sun, 

Clears  and  improves  whate'er  it  shines  upon ; 

It  gilds  all  objects,  but  it  alters  none. 

Expression  is  the  dress  of  thought,  and  still 

Appears  more  decent,  as  more  suitable  ; 

A  vile  conceit  in  pompous  words  express'd 

Is  like  a  clown  in  regal  purple  dress'd  : 

For  diff  rent  styles  with  cliff' rent  subjects  sort,7 

As  sev'ral  garbs  with  country,  town,  and  court. 

Some  by  old  words  to  fame  have  made  pretence, 

Ancients  in  phrase,  mere  moderns  in  their  sense ; 

Such  labor'd  nothings,  in  so  strange  a  style, 

Amaze  th'  unlearn'd,  and  make  the  learned  smile, 

Unlucky,  as  Fungoso8  in  the  play, 

These  sparks IJ  with  awkward  vanity  display 

What  the  fine  gentleman  wore  yesterday  ; 

And  but  so  mimic  ancient  wits  at  best, 

As  apes  our  grandsires,  in  their  doublets  drest. 

In  words,  as  fashions,  the  same  rule  will  hold; 

Alike  fantastic,  if  too  new  or  old  : 

Be  not  the  first  by  whom  the  new  are  try'd, 

Nor  yet  the  last  to  lay  the  old  aside. 

But  most  by  numbers  judge  a  poet's  song, 
And  smooth  or  rough,  with  them,  is  right  or  wrong 
In  the  bright  muse,  tho'  thousand  charms  conspire, 
Her  voice  is  all  these  tuneful  fools  admire ; 
Who  haunt  Parnassus  10  but  to  please  their  ear, 
Not  mend  n  their  minds  ;  as  some  to  church  repair, 
Not  for  the  doctrine,  but  the  music  there. 
These  equal  syllables  alone  require, 


ESSAY   ON   CRITICISM.  H3 

Tho'  oft  the  ear  the  open  vowels  tire  ; 12 

While  expletives  their  feeble  aid  do  join  ; 

And  ten  low  words  oft  creep  in  one  dull  line: 

While  they  ring  round  the  same  unvaried  chimes, 

With  sure  returns  of  still  expected  rhymes; 

Where'er  you  find  "the  cooling  western  breeze," 

In  the  next  line,  it  "whispers  through  the  trees":13 

If  crystal  streams  "with  pleasing  murmurs  creep," 

The  reader's  threaten'd  (not  in  vain)  with  "sleep": 

Then,  at  the  last  and  only  couplet  fraught 

With  some  unmeaning  thing  they  call  a  thought, 

A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  song," 

That,  like  a  wounded  snake,  drags  its  slow  length  along.15 

Leave  such  to  tune  their  own  dull  rhymes,  and  know 

What's  roundly  smooth,  or  languishingly  slow  ; 

And  praise  the  easy  vigor  of  a  line, 

Where     Denham's    strength    and    Waller's10   sweetness 

join. 
True  ease  in  writing  comes  from  art,  not  chance, 
As  those  move  easiest  who  have  learn'd  to  dance. 
'Tis  not  enough  no  harshness  gives  offence, 
The  sound  must  seem  an  echo  to  the  sense: 
Soft  is  the  strain  when  Zephyr  gently  blows, 
And  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  numbers17  Hows; 
Hut  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore, 
The  hoarse,  rough  verse  should  like  the  torrent  roar: 
When  .\ja\  H  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw, 

The  line  too  labors,  and  the  words  move  slow  : 
Not  so,  when  swift  Camilla  l:'  scours  the  plain, 
Flies  o'er  th'  unbending  i  orn,  and  skims  along  the  main. 

Hear  how  Timotheus' -"  vary'd  lays  SUrpri 
And  bid  alternate  passions  fall  and  rise! 

While  at  c,i<  h  i  hange,  the  son  ot  Libyan  Joveffl 


1-H  ALEXANDER  POPE. 

Now  bums  with  glory,  and  then  melts  with  love; 
Now  his  fierce  eyes  with  sparkling  fury  glow, 
Now  sighs  steal  out,  and  tears  begin  to  How  : 
Persians  and  Greeks  like  turns  of  nature  found, 
And  the  world's  victor  stood  subdu'd  by  sound! 
The  power  of  music  all  our  hearts  allow, 
And  what  Timotheus  was,  is  Dryden  now. 

Avoid  extremes;  and  shun  the  fault  of  such, 
Who  still  are  pleas'd  too  little  or  too  much. 
At  ev'ry  trifle  scorn  to  take  offence, 
That  always  shows  great  pride,  or  little  sense  : 
Those  heads,  as  stomachs,  are  not  sure  the  best, 
Which  nauseate  all,  and  nothing  can  digest. 
Yet  let  not  each  gay  turn  thy  rapture  move  ; 
For  fools  admire,  but  men  of  sense  approve  : 
As  things  seem  large  which  we  through  mists  descry; 
Dulness  is  ever  apt  to  magnify. 

Some  foreign  writers,  some  our  own  despise  ; 
The  ancients  only,  or  the  moderns  prize. 
Thus  wit,  like  faith,  by  each  man  is  apply'd 
To  one  small  sect,  and  all  are  damn'd  beside. 
Meanly  they  seek  the  blessing  to  confine, 
And  force  that  sun  but  on  a  part  to  shine, 
Which  not  alone  the  southern  wit  sublimes, 
But  ripens  spirits  in  cold  northern  climes; 
Whieh  from  the  first  has  shone  on  ages  past, 
Enlights  the  present,  and  shall  warm  the  last; 
Tho'  each  may  feel  inereases  and  decays, 
And  see  now  clearer  and  now  darker  days. 
Regard  not,  then,  if  wit  be  old  or  new, 
But  blame  the  false,  and  value  still  the  true. 

Some  ne'er  advanee  a  judgment  of  their  own, 
But  catch  the  spreading  notion  of  the  Town  ; 


ESSAY   ON  CRITICISM.  145 

They  reason  and  conclude  by  precedent, 

And  own  stale  nonsense  which  they  ne'er  invent. 

Sonic  judge  of  authors'  names,  not  works,  and  then 

Nor  praise  nor  blame  the  writings,  but  the  men. 

Of  all  this  servile  herd,  the  worst  is  he 

That  in  proud  dulness  joins  with  Quality.22 

A  constant  critic  at  the  great  man's  board, 

To  fetch  and  carry  nonsense  for  my  Lord. 

What  woful  stuff  this  madrigal  would  be, 

In  some  starv'd  hackney  sonneteer,  or  me  ? 

But  let  a  Lord  once  own  the  happy  lines, 

How  the  wit  brightens  !   how  the  stile  refines  ! 

Before  his  sacred  name  tlies  ev'ry  fault, 

And  each  exalted  stanza  teems  with  thought ! 


NOTES. 

Pope's  "Essay  <>n  ('ritiMsm"  was  published  in  1711.  Ii  consists  of 
724  lines,  ami  is  written  in  heroic  couplets  —  that  style  <>f  poetic  com- 
position in  whii  h  Pope  excelled  all  others.  It  is  full  "l  sound  critical 
put  together  with  considerable  art,  and  expressed  in  a  manner 
which,  at  the  time  ol  its  production,  insured  the  popularity  of  the  poem 
and  the  fame  of  its  author.  It  was  probably  suggested  by  Boileau's  "  \>i 
Poetique,"  which  was  founded  on  Horace's  "Ars  Poetica,"  and  it  in  turn 
on    Aristotle's  rules,   very  commonly  known  among  1 1 .  cal  poets. 

"IIm    Essay,"  says  De  Quincey,  "  is  a  collection  "I  independent  maxims 

til  d  together  into  a  fasciculus  by  the  printer,  hut   having   no   natural   ord«  1 

or  logical  dependence;  generally  bo  vague  :i^  i"  mean  nothing.  And, 
what  is  remarkable,  many  ol  the  ml'  ,  are  violated  by  no  man  bo  often  aa 
by  1  i  by  Pope  nowhere  bo  often  as  in  this  poem." 

1.  Conceit.     All-' ted  wit     "  I  onceit   is  t<«  nature  whal   paint   is  to 
l.eauty;  it  it  not  only  needless  bul  impairs  what  it  would  improve."  —  Pope. 

2.  fit.     Proper,     "lit  audience  find,  though  few"  (Milton,  "  Paradise 
Lost,"  V,  7). 

3.  wit.     I  his  is  a  favorite  word  with  Pope,  and   is  used  by  him  to 
indicate  a  variety  of  ideas,  —  such  aa  thought,  knowledge,  imagination, 


146  ALEXANDER   POPE. 

expression,  the  exercise  of  humor,  etc.     In  this  poem  there  are  no  fewer 
than  twelve  couplets  rhyming  to  it. 

4.  "  It  requires  very  little  reading  of  the  French  text-books  to  find  the 
maxims  which  Pope  has  strung  together  in  this  poem,  but  he  has  dressed 
them  so  neatly,  and  turned  them  out  with  such  sparkle  and  point,  that 
these  truisms  have  acquired  a  weight  not  their  own,  and  they  circulate  as 
proverbs  among  us  in  virtue  of  their  pithy  form  rather  than  their  truth. 
They  exemplify  his  own  line,  '  What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well 
expressed.'  Pope  told  Spence  that  he  had  gone  through  all  the  best  critics, 
specifying  Quintilian,  Rapin,  and  Le  Ilossu.  But  whatever  trouble  he 
took  in  collecting  what  to  say,  his  main  effort  is  expended  upon  how  to 
say  it."  —  Pattison. 

5.  as  women  men.  "As  women  value  men,"  or  "as  women  by  men 
are  valued  "  —  which  ? 

6.  humbly  take  upon  content.     Are  satisfied  to  take  in  faith. 

7.  sort.      Agree. 

8.  Fungoso.  A  character  in  Ben  Jonson's  comedy,  "  Every  Man  in 
his  I  Iumour." 

9.  sparks.      Fops;    vain,  showy  men. 

10.  Parnassus.  A  mountain  in  Hellas,  the  chief  seat  of  Apollo  and 
the  Muses.      Hence,  figuratively,  a  resort  of  the  poets. 

11.  mend.      Improve,  make  better,  amend. 

"  Mend  your  speech  a  little 
Lest  it  may  mar  your  fortunes." 

—  Shakespeare,  King  Lear,  Act  ii,  sc.  i. 

12.  "The  gaping  of  the  vowels  in  this  line,  the  expletive  do  in  the  next, 
and  the  ten  monosyllables  in  that  which  follows,  give  such  a  beauty  to  this 
passage  as  would  have  been  very  much  admired  in  an  ancient  poet."  — 
Addison. 

13.  Pope  himself  is  nut  disinclined  to  make  use  of  these  rhymes.  See 
"Essay  on  Man,"  271. 

"  Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 
Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees." 

14.  Referring  to  the  Spenserian  stanza  which  is  composed  of  nine  lines, 
eight  of  which  are  iambic  pentameters,  and  the  ninth  a  hexameter  or  Alex- 
andrine. The  name  Alexandrine  is  said  to  have  been  derived  from  an  old 
French  poem  on  Alexander  the  Great,  written  about  the  twelfth  or  thir- 
teenth century,  and  composed  entirely  of  hexameter  verses.  See  note  on 
the  versification  of  the  "  Faerie  Queene,"  page  234. 

15.  Observe  the  skill  with  which,  both  in  this  line  and  in  several  which 
precede  and  follow,  the  poet  has  made  "the  sound  to  seem  an  echo  to  the 
sense." 


ODE    ON  ST.    CECILIA'S  DAY.  147 

16.  Waller  hail  been  regarded  as  the  greatest  poet  of  the  seventeenth 
century  (see  page  205),  and  Denham,  in  the  time  of  Pope,  was  more 
esteemed  than  Milton  or  Spenser.     Dryden  called  Denham 

"That  limping  old  bard 
Whose  fame  on  '  The  Sophy  '  and  '  Cooper's  Hill '  stands." 

17.  numbers.     Poetical  metre. 

"  As  yet  a  child  nor  yet  a  fool  to  fame, 
1  lisped  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came." 

—  Pope,  Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot, 

18.  Ajax.  "The  beautiful  distich  upon  Ajax  puts  me  in  mind  of  a 
description  in  Homer's  'Odyssey,'  which  none  of  the  critics  have  taken 
notice  of.  It  is  where  Sisyphus  is  represented  lifting  his  stone  up  the  hill 
which  is  no  sooner  carried  to  the  top  of  it,  but  it  immediately  tumbles  to 
the  bottom.  This  double  motion  of  the  stone  is  admirably  described  in 
the  numbers  of  these  verses;  as  in  the  four  first  it  is  heaved  up  by  several 
spondees  intermixed  with  proper  breathing  places,  and  at  last  trundles 
down  in  a  1  '.utinual  lim-  "I  dai  tyls." — -Addison. 

19.  Camilla.  The  virgin  queen  of  the  Volsci.  She  aided  Turnus 
against  .Kncas,  and  was  famed  for  her  fleetness  of  foot. 

20.  Timotheus.     See  notes  on  "Alexander's  Feast,"  by  Dryden. 

21.  son  of  Libyan  Jove.     Alexander.     See  note  5,  page  166. 

22.  Quality.     Persons  of  high  rank. 


■:  v  :•  ■ 


ODE   ON    ST.    CKCILIA'S    DAY. 

MDCCVIII. 

I. 

Descend,  ye  Nine!1  descend  and  sing; 
The  breathing  instruments  inspire, 
Wake  into  voice  each  silent  string, 
And  sweep  the  sounding  lyre! 
In  a  sadly  pleasing  strain,8 
Let  the  warbling  lute  i  omplain  : 
Let  tin-  loud  trumpel  sound, 
Till  tin-  mots  all  around 
The  shrill  e<  hoes  rebound  ; 


HS  ALEXANDER  POPE. 

While  in  more  lengthen'd  notes  and  slow, 
The  deep,  majestic,  solemn  organs  blow. 

Hark  !  the  numbers  soft  and  clear 

Gently  steal  upon  the  ear; 

Now  louder,  and  yet  louder  rise, 

And  fill  with  spreading  sounds  the  skies : 
Exulting  in  triumph  now  swell  the  bold  notes, 
In  broken  air,  trembling,  the  wild  music  floats ; 

Till,  by  degrees,  remote  and  small, 
The  strains  decay, 
And  melt  away, 

In  a  dying,  dying  fall. 

ii. 
By  music,  minds  an  equal  temper  know,3 
Nor  swell  too  high,  nor  sink  too  low. 
If  in  the  breast  tumultuous  joys  arise, 
Music  her  soft,  assuasive4  voice  applies; 
Or,  when  the  soul  is  press'd  with  cares, 
Exalts  her  in  enlivening  airs. 
Warriors  she  fires  with  animated  sounds ; 
Pours  balm  into  the  bleeding  lover's  wounds ; 
Melancholy  lifts  her  head, 
Morpheus  rouses  from  his  bed, 
Sloth  unfolds  her  arms  and  wakes, 
Listening  Envy  drops  her  snakes ; 
Intestine  war  no  more  our  passions  wage, 
And  giddy  factions  hear  away  their  rage. 

in. 
But  when  our  country's  cause  provokes  to  arms, 
How  martial  music  every  bosom  warms ! 
So  when  the  first  bold  vessel  dared  the  seas, 
High  on  the  stern  the  Thracian  raised  his  strain,5 


ODE    ON  ST.    CECILIA'S  DAY.  149 

While  Argo  saw  her  kindred  trees 
Descend  from  Pelion  to  the  main. 
Transported  demi-gods6  stood  round, 
And  men  grew  heroes  at  the  sound, 
Inflamed  with  glory's  charms; 
Each  chief  his  sevenfold  shield  display'd, 
And  half  unsheathed  the  shining  blade : 
And  seas,  and  rocks,  and  skies  rebound, 
To  arms  !  to  arms  !  to  arms  ! 

IV. 

But  when,  through  all  the  infernal  bounds7 
Which  flaming  Phlegethon  surrounds, 
Love,  strong  as  death,8  the  poet  led 
To  the  pale  nations  of  the  dead, 
What  sounds  were  heard, 
What  scenes  appear'd, 
O'er  all  the  dreary  coast ! 
Dreadful  gleams, 
I  >ismal  screams, 
Fires  thai  glow, 
Shrieks  <>i  woe, 
Sullen  moans, 
I  [ollow  groans, 
And  cries  of  tortured  ghosts! 

But,  hark!    he  strikes  the  -olden  lyre; 
And  sec!  the  tortured  ghosts  respire, 
See,  shady  tonus '■*  advan<  e  ' 
Thy  stone,  ()  Sisyphus,  stands  still,1" 
I  \ion  rests  upon  his  wheel, 
Ami  th>-  pale  spectres  dance ; 
The  Furies  sink  upon  their  iron  beds, 
And  sn;ik«-s  uncuri'd  hang  listening  round  their  heads. 


150  ALEXANDER   POPE. 

V. 

By  the  streams  that  ever  flow, 
By  the  fragrant  winds  that  blow 

O'er  the  Elysian  flowers  ; 
By  those  happy  souls  who  dwell 
In  yellow  meads  of  asphodel, 

Or  amaranthine  bowers; 
By  the  heroes'  armed  shades, 
Glittering  through  the  gloomy  glades, 
By  the  youths  that  died  for  love, 
Wandering  in  the  myrtle  grove, 
Restore,  restore  Eurydice  to  life  : 
Oh  take  the  husband,  or  return  the  wife ! 

He  sung,  and  hell  n  consented 

To  hear  the  poet's  prayer ; 
Stern  Proserpine  relented, 
And  gave  him  back  the  fair. 
Thus  song  could  prevail 
O'er  death  and  o'er  hell, 
A  conquest  how  hard  and  how  glorious ! 
Though  fate  had  fast  bound  her 
With  Styx  nine  times  round  her, 
Yet  music  and  love  were  victorious.12 

VI. 

But  soon,  too  soon,  the  lover  turns  his  eyes 
Again  she  falls,  again  she  dies,  she  dies  ! 
How  wilt  thou  now  the  fatal  sisters  move? 
No  crime  was  thine,  if  'tis  no  crime  to  love. 

Now  under  hanging  mountains, 

Beside  the  falls  of  fountains, 


ODE    ON  ST.    CECILIA'S  DAY.  151 

Or  where  Hebrus  wanders, 
Rolling  in  meanders, 
All  alone, 

Unheard,  unknown, 
He  makes  his  moan  ; 
And  calls  her  ghost, 
For  ever,  ever,  ever  lost ! 
Now  with  furies  surrounded,13 
1  )espairing,  confounded, 
He  trembles,  he  glows, 
Amidst  Rhodope's  I4  snows: 
See,  wild  as  the  winds,  o'er  the  desert  he  flies ; 
1  lark  !  1  [aemus  resounds  with  the  Bacchanals'  cries  — 

Ah  see,  he  dies  ! 
Yet  even  in  death  Eurydice  he  sung, 
Eurydice  still  trembled  on  his  tongue, 
Eurydice  the  woods, 
Eurydice  the  floods, 
Eurydice  the  rocks,  and  hollow  mountains  rung. 


VII. 

Music1''  the  fiercest  grief  can  charm, 
.And  fate's  severest  rage  disarm  ; 
Music  i  an  soften  pain  to  case, 
And  make  despair  and  madness  please: 

( )ur  joys  below  it  can  improve, 

And  antedate  the  bliss  above. 
This  the  divine  ( lecilia  found, 
And  to  her  Maker's  praise  e. mimed  the  sound 

When  the  lull  organ  joins  the  tuneful  choir, 

The  immortal  powers  incline  their  ear; 
Borne  on  the  swelling  notes  our  souls  aspire, 


152  ALEXANDER   POPE. 

While  solemn  airs  improve  the  sacred  fire ; 

And  angels  lean  from  heaven  to  hear. 
Of  Orpheus  now  no  more  let  poets  tell, 

To  bright  Cecilia  greater  power  is  given; 
His  numbers  raised  a  shade  from  hell, 

Hers  lift  the  soul  to  heaven.10 


NOTES. 

This  poem  was  written  in  1708  at  the  suggestion  of  Sir  Richard  Steele; 
it  was  set  to  music  by  Maurice  Greene,  and  in  1730  was  performed  at  the 
public  commemoration  at  Cambridge.  Its  model  is  Dryden's  famous  ode, 
"Alexander's  Feast,"  of  which  Pope  was  a  warm  admirer  (see  page  159). 
I  n.  Johnson  says:  "In  his  'Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day'  Pope  is  gener- 
ally confessed  to  have  miscarried  ;  yet  he  has  miscarried  only  as  com- 
pared with  Dryden,  for  he  has  far  outgone  other  competitors.  Dryden's 
plan  is  better  chosen;  history  will  always  take  stronger  hold  of  the  passions 
than  fable:  the  passions  excited  by  Dryden  are  the  pleasures  and  pains  of 
real  life;  the  scene  of  Pope  is  laid  in  imaginary  existence;  Pope  is  read 
with  calm  acquiescence,  Dryden  with  turbulent  delight;  Pope  hangs  upon 
the  ear,  Dryden  finds  the  passes  of  the  mind.  Both  the  odes  want  the 
essential  constituent  of  metrical  compositions,  the  stated  recurrence  of 
settled  numbers.  ...  If  Pope's  ode  be  particularly  inspected,  it  will  be 
found  that  the  first  stanza  consists  of  sounds,  well  chosen,  indeed,  but  only 
sounds.  The  second  consists  of  hyperbolical  commonplaces,  easily  to  be 
found,  and,  perhaps,  without  much  difficulty  to  be  as  well  expressed.  In 
the  third,  however,  there  are  numbers,  images,  harmony,  and  vigor  not 
unworthy  the  antagonist  of  Dryden.  Had  all  been  like  this  —  but  every 
part  cannot  be  the  best.  The  next  stanzas  place  and  detain  us  in  the 
dark  and  dismal  regions  of  mythology;  .  .  .  we  have  all  that  can  be  per- 
formed by  elegance  of  diction  or  sweetness  of  versification;  but  what  can 
form  avail  without  better  matter?  The  last  stanza  again  refers  to  common- 
places. The  conclusion  is  too  evidently  modelled  by  that  of  Dryden;  and 
it  may  be  remarked  that  both  end  with  the  same  fault — the  comparison 
of  each  is  literal  on  one  side  and  metaphorical  on  the  other.  Poets  do  not 
always  express  their  own  thoughts.  Pope,  with  all  this  labor  in  the  praise 
of  music,  was  ignorant  of  its  principles  and  insensible  of  its  effects." 

St.  Cecilia,  the  Christian  Polyhymnia  and  patron  saint  of  sacred  music, 
is   said    to    have   suffered   martyrdom   about   the   year   230.      In  Chaucer's 


ODE    ON  ST.    CECILIA'S   PAY.  153 

"  Seconde  Nonnes  Tale"  —  which   is  an  almost  literal  translation  of  the 

"  Legcnda  Aurea,"  written   in   the  thirteenth   century — -it  is  related   that, 

on  account  of  Cecilia's  spotless  purity,  an  angel  came  down  from  heaven  to 

he  her  guardian.     Her  husband,  Valerian,  was  also  the  recipient  of  angelic 

favors,  for 

"  This  angel  had  of  roses  and  lilie 

Corones  two,  the  which  he  bare  in  honde, 

And  first  to  Cecile,  as  I  understonde, 

He  yaf  that  on,  and  after  gan  he  take 

Thai  other  to  Valerian  hire  make." 

How  and  when  Cei  ili.i  was  first  recognized  as  the  patron  saint  of  music 
does  not  appear.     The  legend  only  says,  that 

"  While  the  organs  maden  melodic, 
I    i  God  alone  thus  in  hire  licit  song  she ; 
'  O  1  .<>!'d,  my  SOule  and  eke  my  body  K'e 
Unwemmed,  lest  that  I  confounded  be.'" 

There  is  also  a  tradition  in  tin-  church  that  St.  Cecilia  was  the  inventor  of 
the  organ.  Dryden  rails  her  " inventress  of  the  vocal  frame"  (see  page 
i » .  j  ,  The  origin  ol  this  musical  instrument  is  not  known,  hut  tin-  first 
organs  used  in  Italy  are  said  to  have  been  brought  thither  from  Greece. 
Some  ol  tin-  Roman  churches  are  known  to  have  had  them  in  use  in  the 
seventh  century,  hut  they  were  not  common  until  several  hundred  years 
later.    'I  he  festival  of  St.  <  'ecilia  occurs  on  the  22d  of  November. 

i.    ye  Nine.     'I  he  nine  Muses:  (  i  |  Calliope,  the  Muse  of  epic  poetry; 
<2)  Clio,  the  Mil-'-  of  history.      ;     I  uterpe,  the  Muse  of  [yric  poetry; 

'l      Mel| one,   tie-    Muse   ol   tragedy;    (5)   Terpsichore,  the   Muse   "i 

choral  dance  and  song;   (6)  Erato,  the  Muse  of  erotii   poetry;    (7)  Poly 
hymnia,  the  Muse  of  the  sublime  hymn;      8)    1  rania,  tin-   Muse  of  as- 
tronomy;  (9)  Thalia,  the  Muse  of  comedy  and  idyllii  poetry.     The  custom 
of  invoking  the  Muses,  :>i  the  beginning  of  poems,  is  derived  from  Homei  : 

"  ( ii  Peleus1   on,  A<  hilles,  sing,  <  >  Muse." 

—  ///.;./.   I.I. 

"  Tell  me,  ( >  Muse,  of  that  us  man 

Who,  having  overthn  ■  ■•  n  the    ai  red  town 
<  'I  I  Hum,  wandered  far,"  etc, 

1  ',/ro,-v,  I,  1. 

Milton  invol.es  the 

"  heavenly  Muse  tli.it  on  tin-  set  rel  lop 
Of  Oreb,  01  "t  Sinai,  didsl  inspire 
'I  h.ii    hepherd,"  eti . 

/  aradi     l    t,l,l. 


154  ALEXANDER   POPE. 

2.  Observe  how,  in  the  sixteen  lines  following,  the  sound  is  made  in 
some  measure  to  he  "  an  echo  to  the  sense." 

3.  equal  temper  know.  Evenness  of  disposition  acquire.  The  music 
of  Timotheus  had  an  opposite  effect  on  Alexander.  See  "  Alexander's 
Feast." 

4.  assuasive.     Moderating. 

5.  the  Thracian  raised  his  strain.  Orpheus  was  a  Thracian,  the  son 
of  CEagrus  and  the  Muse  Calliope.  Apollo  gave  him  a  lyre,  and  the  Muses 
instructed  him  in  its  use;  and  so  sweet  was  the  music  which  he  drew  from 
it  that  the  wild  beasts  were  enchanted  and  the  trees  and  rocks  moved 
from  their  places  to  follow  the  sound.  When  Jason  and  his  followers,  the 
Argonauts,  were  unable  to  launch  their  ship  Argo,  Orpheus  played  his 
lyre,  and  the  vessel  glided  into  the  sea,  while  her  "  kindred  trees  de- 
scended "  from  the  slopes  of  the  mountain  (Pelion)  and  followed  her  into 
"the  main." 

6.  demi-gods.  Half-gods;  heroes.  Among  the  Argonauts  were 
Hercules,  Castor  and  Pollux,  Theseus,  Peleus,  Nestor,  and  others  similarly 
renowned. 

7.  infernal  bounds.  Boundaries  of  hell.  The  wife  of  Orpheus  was  a 
nymph  named  Eurydice.  She  having  died  from  the  bite  of  a  serpent,  the 
sweet  musician  followed  her  into  the  infernal  regions.  He  begged  of 
Pluto  that  his  wife  might  return  with  him  to  the  earth,  but  his  prayer  was 
granted  only  upon  condition  that  he  should  not  look  back  upon  her  until 
both  had  safely  passed  the  gates  between  Hades  and  the  upper  world. 
The  poet  tells  the  rest  of  the  story. 

Phlegethon.    A  river  of  hell  in  which  flowed  fire  instead  of  water. 

8.  See  Song  of  Solomon  viii.  6:   "  Love  is  strong  as  death." 

9.  shady  forms.  1  '(parted  spirits  were  called  "  shades,"  because  they 
were  supposed  to  be  perceptible  sometimes  to  the  sight  but  never  to  the 
touch.     See  "  heroes'  armed  shades,"  below. 

10.  Sisyphus.     See  note  18,  page  147. 

Ixion.  King  of  the  Lapithse.  As  a  punishment  for  ingratitude  to  Zeus, 
his  hands  and  feet  were  chained  to  a  wheel  which  was  always  in  motion. 

Furies.     See  note  20,  page  167. 

n.  hell.  The  powers  of  hell  —  or,  as  he  explains  below,  Proserpine, 
the  queen  of  the  infernal  regions.  Styx.  The  principal  river  of  hell, 
around  which  it  flows  seven  — not  nine  —  times. 

12.    See  Milton's  "  L'Allegro,"  135: 

"  Lap  me  in  soft  Lydian  airs, 
Married  to  immortal  verse,  .  .  . 
That  Orpheus'  self  may  heave  his  head 
I  i '.in  golden  slumber  on  a  bed 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE.  155 

Of  heaped  Elysian  flowers,  and  hear 
Such  strains  as  would  have  won  the  ear 
Of  Pluto  to  have  quite  set  free 
His  half-regain'd  Eurydice." 

13.  Orpheus's  grief  for  the  loss  of  Eurydice  caused  him  to  treat  with 
contempt  the  Thracian  women  among  whom  he  dwelt,  and  they  in  revenge 
tore  him  to  pieces,  under  the  excitement  of  their  Bacchanalian  orgies. 
His  head  was  given  by  the  Ilebrus  to  the  sea,  and  finally  carried  to  the 
island  of  Lesbos,  where  it  was  buried.     See  Milton's  "  Lycidas,"  58: 

"  What  could  the  Muse  herself  that  Orpheus  bore, 
The  Muse  herself  for  her  enchanting  son, 
Whom  universal  nature  did  lament, 
When  by  the  rout  that  made  the  hideous  roar, 
His  gory  visage  down  the  stream  was  sent, 
Down  the  swift  Hebrus  to  the  Lesbian  shore?  " 

See,  also,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  VII,  32: 

"  The  barbarous  dissonance 
Of  Bacchus  and  his  revellers,  the  race 
Of  that  wild  roul  thai  tore  the  Thracian  bard 
In  Rhodope,  where  woods  and  rocks  had  ears 
To  rapture,  till  the  savage  clamor  drown'd 
Both  hup  and  voice ;  nor  could  the  Muse  defend 
Her  son." 

14.  Rhodope.  A  range  < ■  f  mountains  in  Thrace,  sacred  to  Bacchus. 
Haemus  was  another  range  extending  from    Rhodope,  on   the  west,   to   the 

m  the  east, 

15.  Music.     Compare  what  Pope  says  of  music  with : 

"  Music  hath  1  harm',  to  soothe  fhi  breast." 

•,  The  Mout  ning  Bride. 
Music  I  !  pher  |i  d  maid, 

Friend  ol  plea  ure,  « 1  idom's  aid  '  " 

<  ollins,  The  Passions. 

"  Soft  1 1  the  niu  i<  1i1.1t  would  1  harm  forever." 

—  II  ordsworth.  Sonnets. 

16.  Compare  these  lines  with  the  four  which  end  Dryden's  "  Alexan- 

d(  r 

•■■:*:■  ■ 

BIOGRAPHICAL     NOTE. 

Alexander  Popi   was  born  in  London  in  r688.     He  had  some 
iction  ;it   home,  and   wa     afterwards  sent,  firsl   to  .1   Roman 
Catholii     leminarj   neai   Winchester,  then   to  : thei   in    London 


156  ALEXANDER  POPE. 

"This,"  he  said,  "was  all  the  teaching  I  ever  had,  and  God  knows 
it  extended  a  very  little  way.  When  1  had  done  with  my  priests,  I 
took  to  reading  by  myself,  for  which  I  had  a  very  great  eagerness 
and  enthusiasm,  especially  for  poetry:  and  in  a  few  years  I  had 
dipped  into  a  very  great  number  of  the  English,  Italian,  Latin,  and 
Greek  poets.1'  He  was  small  of  stature  and  deformed,  and  his  ill 
health  made  him  peevish,  irritable,  and  selfish.  Yet  his  rare  intel- 
lectual abilities  and  the  deserved  success  of  his  earlier  poetry  secured 
for  him  the  friendship  of  many  of  the  most  influential  men  of  the 
time.  Bolingbroke  declared  that  he  never  knew  a  man  more  ten- 
derly devoted  to  his  friends ;  and  Warburton  said,  "  He  is  as  good  a 
companion  as  poet,  and,  what  is  more,  appears  to  be  a  good  man." 

Pope's  "Essay  on  Criticism"  was  published  in  1711  ;  the  "Rape  of 
the  Lock*'  in  1 7 14 ;  his  translation  of  Homer's  "Iliad"  in  17 15—18, 
and  of  the  "Odyssey"  in  1726;  the  "  Dunciad "  in  1728;  the 
"Essay  on  Man"  in  1732.  A  revised  and  enlarged  version  of  the 
"  Dunciad"  was  published  in  1742.  The  latter  part  of  Pope's  life 
was  spent  at  his  country-seat  of  Twickenham,  which  he  enlarged 
and  beautified  from  the  proceeds  of  his  translation  of  Homer.  He 
died  in  1744. 

"Pope  is  our  greatest  master  in  didactic  poetry,"  says  Stopford 
Brooke,  "  not  so  much  because  of  the  worth  of  the  thoughts  as 
because  of  the  masterly  form  in  which  they  are  put." 

'•  In  two  directions,"  says  Mark  Pattison,  "in  that  of  condensing 
and  pointing  his  meaning,  and  in  that  of  drawing  the  utmost  har- 
mony of  sound  out  of  the  couplet,  Pope  carried  versification  far 
beyond  the  [joint  at  which  it  was  when  he  took  it  up.  The  matter 
'.\lii'li  he  worked  up  into  his  verse  has  a  permanent  value,  and  is 
indeed  one  of  the  most  precious  heirlooms  which  the  eighteenth 
century  has  bequeathed  us." 

Other  Poems  to  be  Read  :  The  Rape  of  the  Lock;  The  Dying  Chris- 
tian to  his  Soul;   The  Universal  l'rayer;    Pastorals;    Windsor  Forest. 

REFERENCES:  Johnson's  Lives  of  the  Poets ;  Stephen's  Hours  in  a  Li- 
brary; Do  Ouincey's  Literature  of  tin1  Eighteenth  Century;  Lowell's  A/y 
Study  Windows  :  Pope  (English  Men  of  Letters),  by  Leslie  Stephen. 


<T1jr  Sebenteentf)  Crnturu. 


-OO^^OO- 


••  The  people  of  the  seventeenth  century  were  weary  of  liberty, 
weary  of  the  unmitigated  rage  of  the  dramatists,  cloyed  with  the 
roses  atid  the  spices  ami  the  kisses  of  the  lyrists,  tired  of  being  carried 
over  the  universe  and  up  ami  down  the  avenues  of  history  at  the 
freak  of  every  irresponsible  rhymester.  Literature  had  been  set  often 
to  all  the  breezes  of  heaven  by  the  blustering  and  glittering  Eliza- 
bethans, and  in  the  hands  of  their  less  gifted  successors  it  was  fast 
declining  into  a  mere  Cave  of  the  Winds.  .  .  .  We  know  the  poets 
of  the  early  Caroline  period  almost  entirely  by  extracts,  and  their 
ardor,  quaint  ncs\,  and  sudden  flashes  of  inspiration  give  them  a 
singular  advantage  in  this  form.  The  sustained  elevation  which 
had  characterized  Shakespeare  and  Spenser,  and  even  in  some  degree 
several  of  the  thief  of  their  contemporaries,  had  passed  away,  but 
still  the  poets  were  most  brilliant,  mod  delectable  in  their  purple 

pati  he\ Is  the  last  waves  of  the  Renaissance  died  away,  a 

deathly  calm  settled  down  upon  the  pools  of  thought.     Man  returned 

I  nun  the  pat  It,  u/ar  to  the  general,  from  romantn  examples  to  those 

disquisitions  mi  the  norm  which  were  thought  to  display  a  classical 
to  jr.  The  seer  disappeared,  and  the  artificer  took  his  plan-.  For 
a  whole  century  the  singer  that  only  w///;;  because  he  must,  and  as 

the  linnets    do,    7, 'as    entirely  absent   from   English    literature,      lie 

came  back  at  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century,  :01th  Burns  m 
Scotland,  and  with  Blake  in  England."  —Edmund  <;<>ssk. 

•  it  the  .ame  time,  amid  the  classical  coldness  which  then  dried 
up  English  literature,  ami  the  tocial  excess  which  then  corrupted 
English  morals  .  .  .  appeared  a  mighty  and  supeib  mind  (Milton), 
prepared  by  logii  and  enthusiasm  lot  eloquence  and  the  epii  tlyle} 
the  heir  0/  a  poetical  age,  the  fie, in  tot  0/  an  austere  are.  holding 
his  pla.c  between  the  epoch  "/  unselfish  dreaming  anil  the  epoch  <>J 

ft  a  thai  a.tton."    -  TA1NE. 

'57 


$3orts  of  tijr  Srbrntrrntij  Crntuvu. 

Ben  Jonson  ( 1 573—1637).     See  biographical  note,  page  213. 

William   Drummond   of   Hawthornden    (1585-1649).      Short    poems; 

"Poems:    Amorous,    Funerall,    Divine,   Pastoral  1,    in    Sonnets,    Songs, 

Sextains,  Madrigals";   "  Floures  of  Sion." 
William  Browne  (1588-1643).     "Britannia's  Pastorals";    "The   Shep- 
herd's 1'ipe";   "The  Inner  Temple  Masque." 
George  Wither  (1588-1667).     Short  poems;  "Collection  of  Emblems"; 

"Nature  of  Man";   "The  Shepheard's  Hunting";   "Fidelia." 
Phineas  Fletcher  (1582-1650).    "The  Locustes";  "The  Purple  Island." 
Giles  Fletcher  (1588-1623).     "Christ's  Victory  and  Triumph." 
Thomas  Carew  (1589-1639).     Short  poems;   "  Caelum  Britannicum." 
Francis  Quarles   (1592-1644).      "Divine   Poems";    "Emblems,  Divine 

and  Moral." 
Robert  Herrick  (1594-1674).     See  biographical  note,  page  202. 
Sir  John  Suckling  (160S-1642).     Love  poems. 

Richard  Lovelace  (1618-1658).     Short  poems;    "Lucasta:    Odes,  Son- 
nets, Songs,"  etc. 
Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury  (1581-1648).     Odes  and  short  poems. 
George  Herbert  (1592-1634).     "The  Temple:  Sacred  Poems  and  Private 

Ejaculations";    short  poems. 
George  Sandys  (1577-1643).     "Christ's  Passion." 
Richard  Crashaw  (1615-1650).     "Steps  to  the  Altar." 
Henry  Vaughan   (1621-1695).     "  Silex   Scintillans";    "The    Mount   of 

Olives." 
Abraham  Cowley  (1618-1667).    "Poetical  Blossomes";  "The  Mistress." 
Edmund  Waller  (1605-1687).     Sec  biographical  note,  page  205. 
Sir  John  Denham  (1615-166S).     "Cooper's  Hill." 
Sir  William  Davenant  (1605-166S).     "Condibert";   "  Madagascar  and 

Other  Poems." 
John  Milton  (1608-1674).     See  biographical  note,  page  195. 
Andrew  Marvell  (1621-1678).     Lyric  and  satiric  poems. 
Samuel  Butler  (1612-1680).     "  Hudibras." 
Thomas  Otway  (1651-1685).      "The   Poet's  Complaint  of  his  Muse"; 

"  Windsor  Tattle." 
John  Dryden  (1631-1700).     See  biographical  note,  page  175. 

158 


3obn  Bntoen. 


-o«:*;o»- 


ALEXANDER'S    FEAST;    OR,    THE    POWER 

OF  MUSIC: 

An  Ode  in  Honor  of  St.  Cecilia's  Day. 

'TWAS  at  the  royal  feast,1  for  Persia  won 
By  Philip's  warlike  son  : 
Aloft  in  awful  state 
The  godlike  hero  sate 

On  his  imperial  throne  : 
His  valiant  peers  were  placed  around; 
Their  brows  with  roses  and  with  myrtles  bound:2 
(So  should  desert  in  arms  be  crowned.) 
The  lovely  Thais,3  by  his  side, 
Sate  like  a  blooming  Eastern  bride 
I  n  llou  er  oi  \  out  h  and  beaul  y's  pride. 
I  hippy,  happy,  happy  pair ! 
None  bill  t  he  brave, 

None  bul  the  brave, 

None  but  the  brave  deserves  the  fair. 

(  horns. 
Happy,  happy,  happy  pail  I 
None  bul  the  brave, 
None  bul  the  brave, 

None  bul  the  Im,i\ e  d  th<   fair. 

1   i 


160  JOHN  DRYDEN. 

Timotheus,4  placed  on  high 
Amid  the  tuneful  quire, 
With  flying  ringers  touched  the  lyre  : 
The  trembling  notes  ascend  the  sky, 

And  heavenly  joys  inspire. 
The  song  began  from  Jove,5 
Who  left  his  blissful  seats  above, 
(Such  is  the  power  of  mighty  love.) 
A  dragon's  fiery  form  belied  the  god  : 
Sublime  on  radiant  spires  he  rode. 
The  listening  crowd  admire  the  lofty  sound, 
A  present  deity,0  they  shout  around  ; 
A  present  deity,  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound : 
With  ravish'd  ears 
The  monarch  hears, 
Assumes  the  god, 
Affects  to  nod,7 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 

Chorus. 

With  ravish'd  ears 
The  monarch  hears, 
Assumes  the  god, 
Affects  to  nod, 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 

The  praise  of  Bacchus  then,  the  sweet  musician  sung, 
Of  Bacchus  ever  fair  and  ever  young : 
The  jolly  god  in  triumph  comes; 
Sound  the  trumpets;  beat  the  drums; 
Flush'd  with  a  purple  grace, 
He  shows  his  honest  face  : 
Now  give  the  hautboys8  breath;  he  comes  !  he  comes! 


ALEXANDERS  FEAST.  161 

Bacchus,  ever  fair  and  young, 

Drinking  joys  did  first  ordain  ; 
Bacchus'  blessings  arc  a  treasure, 
Drinking  is  the  soldier's  pleasure  ; 

Rich  the  treasure, 

Sweet  the  pleasure  ; 
Sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain. 

Chorus. 

Bacchus'  blessings  are  a  treasure, 
Drinking  is  the  soldier's  pleasure  ; 

Rich  the  treasure, 

Sweet  the  pleasure  ; 
Sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain. 

Sooth'd  with  the  sound,  the  king  grew  vain  , 
Fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again  ; 
And   thrice   he   routed   all    his   foes;   and  thrice   he  slew 

the  slain.9 
The  master  saw  the  madness  rise  ; 
His  glowing  cheeks,  his  ardent  eyes  ; 
And,  while  he  Heaven  and  Earth  defied, 
Changed  his  hand,  and  check'd  his  pride. 

He  i  hose  a  mourn!  ul  muse, 

Soft  pity  to  infuse  : 
He  sung  Darius  '"  great  and  good, 

By  too  severe  a  fate, 
Fallen,  fallen,  fallen,  fallen, 
Fallen  from  his  high  estate, 

And  welt'ring  in  his  blood  ; 
I  deserted  at  Ids  utmost  need, 

By  those  his  foi  ni'i    bounty  led  : 


162  JOHN  DRYDl-.X. 

On  the  bare  earth  expos'd  he  lies,11 

With  not  a  friend  to  close  his  eyes.1- 
With  downcast  looks  the  joyless  victor  sate, 
Revolving  in  his  alter'd  soul 

The  various  turns  of  chance  below  ; 
And,  now  and  then,  a  sigh  he  stole,13 

And  tears  began  to  flow. 

Chorus. 

Revolving  in  his  alter'd  soul 

The  various  turns  of  chance  below; 

And,  now  and  then,  a  sigh  he  stole, 
And  tears  began  to  flow. 

The  mighty  master  smil'd  to  see 
That  love  was  in  the  next  degree  : 
'Twas  but  a  kindred  sound  to  move, 
For  pity  melts  the  mind  to  love.14 

Softly  sweet,  in  Lydian  u>  measures, 

Soon  he  sooth'd  his  soul  to  pleasures. 
War,  he  sung,  is  toil  and  trouble  ; 
Honor,  but  an  empty  bubble  ; 10 

Never  ending,  still  beginning, 
Fighting  still,  and  still  destroying  ; 

If  the  world  be  worth  thy  winning, 
Think,  oh  think  it  worth  enjoying! 

Lovely  Thais  sits  beside  thee, 

Take  the  good  the  gods  provide  thee. 
The  many17  rend  the  air  with  loud  applause; 
So  Love  was  crown' d,  but  Music  won  the  cause. 
The  prince,  unable  to  conceal  his  pain, 

Gaz'd  on  the  fair 

Who  caus'd  his  care, 


ALEXANDER'S  FEAST.  163 

And  sigh'd  and  look'd, ls  sigh'd  and  look'd, 

Sigh'd  and  look'd,  and  sigh'd  again; 
At  length,  with  love  and  wine  at  once  oppress'd, 
The  vanquished  victor  sunk  upon  her  breast. 

Chorus. 

The  prince,  unable  to  conceal  his  pain, 
Gaz'd  on  the  fair 
Who  caus'd  his  care, 
And  sigh'd  and  look'd,  sigh'd  and  look'd, 
Sigh'd  and  look'd,  and  sigh'd  again; 
At  length,  with  love  and  wine  at  once  oppress'd, 
The  vanquish'd  victor  sunk  upon  her  breast. 


Now  strike  the  golden  lyre  again  ; 
A  louder  yet,  and  yet  a  louder  strain. 
Break  his  bands  of  sleep  l;'  asunder, 
And  rouse  him,  like  a  rattling  peal  of  thunder. 
Hark,  hark,  the  horrid  sound 
I  [as  raised  up  his  head  ! 
As  awaked  I rom  the  dead, 
And  amaz'd  he  stares  around. 
Revenge  !  r<-\  enge  !  Timotheus  i  ries, 
See  the  Furies  '3)  arise  : 
See  the  snakes  thai  they  rear, 
I  low  they  hiss  in  their  hair, 
And  the  sparkles  that  flash  from  theu  eyes! 
Behold  a  ghastly  band, 
Each  ;i  torch  in  his  hand  ! 
Those  are  Grei  ian  ghosts,21  thai  in  battle  were  slain, 
And  unburied  remain 
Inglorious  on  the  plain  : 


164  JOHN  DRYDEN. 

Give  the  vengeance  due 

To  the  valiant  crew.22 
Heboid  how  they  toss  their  torches  on  high, 
How  they  point  to  the  Persian  abodes, 
And  glittering  temples  of  their  hostile  gods ! 
The  princes  applaud  with  a  furious  joy  ; 
And  the  king  seiz'd  a  flambeau  with  zeal  to  destroy ; 

Thais  led  the  way,23 

To  light  him  to  his  prey, 
And  like  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy. 

Chorus. 

And  the  king  seiz'd  a  flambeau  with  zeal  to  destroy ; 

Thais  led  the  way, 

To  light  him  to  his  prey, 
And  like  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy. 

Thus,  long  ago, 
Ere  heaving  bellows  learn'd  to  blow, 
While  organs24  yet  were  mute  ; 
Timotheus  to  his  breathing  flute, 
And  sounding  lyre, 
Could  swell  the  soul  to  rage,  or  kindle  soft  desire. 
At  last  divine  Cecilia  came, 
Inventress  of  the  vocal  frame  ;25 
The  sweet  enthusiast,  from  her  sacred  store, 
Enlarged  the  former  narrow  bounds, 
And  added  length  to  solemn  sounds, 
With  Nature's  mother-wit,  and  arts  unknown  before. 
Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize, 

Or  both  divide  the  crown  : 

He  rais'd  a  mortal  to  the  skies ; 

She  drew  an  angel  down.26 


ALEXANDER'S  FEAST.  165 

Grand  Chorus. 
At  last  divine  Cecilia  came, 
Inventress  of  the  vocal  frame  ; 
The  sweet  enthusiast,  from  her  sacred  store, 
Enlarged  the  former  narrow  bounds, 
And  added  length  to  solemn  sounds, 
With  Nature's  mother-wit,  and  arts  unknown  before. 
Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize, 

Or  both  divide  the  crown  : 
He  rais'd  a  mortal  to  the  skies- 
She  drew  an  angrel  down. 


NOTES. 


This  song  was  written  in  1697.  [x>rd  Bolingbroke  relates  that,  calling 
upon  the  poet  "Mr  morning,  Dryden  said  to  him:  "I  have  been  up  all 
night;  my  musical  friends  made  me  promise  to  write  them  an  ode  i"i 
their  Feast  of  St.   Cecilia,  and   I   was  s<>  struck   with  the  subject   which 

occurred  to  me  thai   I  could  not  leave  it  till  I   had  completed  it:    here  it   is, 

finished  at  one  sitting." 

The  poem  was  first  set  t>>  music  by  one  Jeremiah  Clarke,  a  steward  of 
the  Musii  al  Soi  iety,  whose  members  had  iolii  ited  Dryden  to  write  it.     In 
1736  it  was  rearranged  b)  the  great  compose)  1 1  am  lei,  and  again  presi  nfc 
at  a  publii   p<  it"i m  ince, 

M.  Tain  ,   "His  'Alexander's  least'   is   an   admirable  trumpet- 

blast,  in  whii  h  m(  to  and  Bound  im|iress  upon  tin    ni  rves  the  emotions  01 
the  mind,  a  master-pieci   ■■!  rapture  and  ••!  art,  which  Victoi    Hugo  alom 
has  come  up  to." 

"Asa  piece  "I  poetical  mechanism  t<>  he  set  t"  music,  01  recited  in 
alternate  itrophe  and  anti-strophe,"  says  1  la/litt,  " nothing  can  be  better." 

" This  ode  is  Dryden's  gi  vork."     -Macattt 

1.    royal  feast.     About  the  yeai  B.(     ;  ;t.  Alexandei  the  Great,  having 
overthrown  the   Persian   Empire,  held  a  great  feast  at   Persepolis  in  cell 
bration  of  hi,  Ai  tie  f  the  revelrii 

by  Thais,  his  Athenian  mistress,  he  set  lire  with  his  own  hand  to  the 
palace  "i   Persepolis;  and  a  general  massacn    "l  tie    inhabitants  ensued. 


166  J  01  IX  DRY  DEN. 

The  ruins  of  the  city  and  palace  arc  still  to  be  seen  in  a  beautiful  valley 
watered  by  the  river  Araxes —  now  called  Bendemir  —  not  far  from  the 
bonier  of  the  Carmanian  Desert. 

2.  with  roses  and  with  myrtles.  At  the  banquets  of  the  Creeks  it 
was  the  custom  of  the  guests  to  wear  garlands  of  roses  and  myrtles. 

3.  Thais.  "Her  name  is  best  known  from  the  story  of  her  having 
stimulated  the  Conqueror,  during  a  great  festival  at  Persepolis,  to  set  fire 
tn  the  palace  of  the  Persian  kings;  but  this  anecdote,  immortalized  as  it 
has  been  by  Dryden's  famous  ode,  appears  to  rest  on  the  sole  authority  of 
Cleitarchus,  one  of  the  least  trustworthy  of  the  historians  of  Alexander, 
and  is  in  all  probability  a  mere  fable."  After  the  death  of  Alexander,  Thais 
became  the  wife  of  Ptolemy  Lagus. 

4.  Timotheus.  A  famous  flute-player  from  Thebes.  Another  and 
more  celebrated  Timotheus,  "the  poet  of  the  later  Athenian  dithyramb," 
was  a  native  of  Miletus,  and  died  about  the  time  of  Alexander's  birth. 

5.  Alexander  claimed  to  be  the  son  of  Jupiter  Amnion;  and  when  he 
visited  the  temple  of  that  god,  in  the  Libyan  Desert,  he  was  received  by 
the  priests  and  honored  as  such.     See  Plutarch's  Life  of  Alexander. 

6.  present  deity.     See  Psalm  xlvi.  1. 

7.  affects  to  nod.  See  Homer's  "Iliad,"  I,  528-530:  "Jove  spake, 
and  nodded  his  dark  brow,  and  the  ambrosial  locks  waved  from  his  im- 
mortal head;   and  he  made  great  Olympus  quake." 

8.  hautboys.  Oboes.  French  hautbois.  Wind  instruments  resem- 
bling the  clarionet. 

Bacchus.     Compare  Shakespeare: 

"  Come,  thou  monarch  of  the  vine, 
I'lumpy  Bacchus  with  pink  eyne." 

—  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  Act  ii,  sc.  7. 

9.  thrice  he  slew  the  slain.     How  could  he  slay  the  slain? 

10.  Darius.  At  the  time  of  this  feast  at  Persepolis,  Darius,  the  van- 
quished king  of  Persia,  was  still  living,  although  a  fugitive.  In  the  follow- 
ing year  Alexander  pursued  him  into  the  Parthian  Desert,  where  he  was 
murdered  by  the  satrap  of  Bactria.  By  order  of  Alexander,  the  body  of 
the  unfortunate  king  was  sent  to  Persepolis,  to  be  buried  in  the  tombs 
of  the  kings. 

n.  expos'd  he  lies.  Dryden  seems  to  have  written  this  under  the 
impression  that  Darius  had  been  killed  before  the  time  of  the  great  feast 
at  Persepolis. 

12.  close  his  eyes.  Compare  this  with  the  lines  from  Pope  ("  Elegy 
on  an  I'nfurtunate  Lady")  : 

"  By  foreign  hands  thy  dying  eyes  were  closed ; 
By  foreign  hands  thy  decent  limbs  composed." 


ALEXANDER'S   /FAST.  167 

13.  a  sigh  he  stole.  Sighed  silently.  His  sighs  when  the  result  of 
pity  were  Dot  very  distinctly  uttered.     Compare  Shakespeare: 

"  And  then  the  lover, 
Sighing  like  a  furnace." 

—  As  You  Like  It,  Act  ii,  sc.  7. 

And  then  read,  in  the  next  stanza,  how  Alexander  sighed  when  moved  by 
love. 

14.  pity  melts  the  mind  to  love.     Compare : 

"  Pity  swells  the  tide  of  love." 

—  Young's  Night  Thoughts,  III,  106. 
"  Pity's  akin  to  love." 

—  Southern's  Oroonoko,  II,  I. 

15.  Lydian  measures.  The  people  of  Lydia  were  noted  for  the 
effeminacy  of  their  manners.     And   Lydian  music  was  peculiarly  soft  and 

voluptuous. 

"  Ami  ever  against  eating  cares, 
I.ap  me  in  soft  Lydian  airs." 

—  Milton's  I.' Allegro,  135. 

"And  all  the-  while  sunt  Musicke  did  divide 
Hei  looser  notes  with  Lydian  harmony." 

—  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene,  III,  1. 

ohscrve  the  change  in  metre  in  the  ten  lines  beginning  "Softly  sweet." 

What  does  the-  word     weet  modify? 

16.  Honor,  but  an  empty  bubble.     So  Shakespeare: 

"  I  [onor  is  a  mere  si  utcheon." 

—  /  Henry  /I'.,  At  t  v,  sc.  I. 

17.  The  many.     The  multitude. 

18.  sigh'd  and  look'd.  lie  no  longer  Meals  a  si^h,  as  he  did  when 
pitying  Darius.     See  note  13,  above. 

19.  Break  his  hands  of  sleep.  The  music  now  is  very  different  from 
tie-  Lydian  measures  which  "soothed  his  soul  to  pleasures."  "Suidas," 
lays  I  >r.  Warton,  "  mini  ion-,  tie-  ( Irthian  style  in  music,  in  whi<  h  Timotheus 

I  to  have  played  to  Alexander;  and  one  Antigenidas  inflamed  this 
prime  still  more  by  striking  into  what  wire  called  Harmatian  measures. 
Quintus  Curtii  1  minute  dew  ription  of  the  burning  of  the  palace  .'it 

I  polis,  when  llexander  was  accompanied  by  Thais.  Bui  it  does  no) 
appear  in  the  accurate  Vrrian  thai  Thais  had  any  shar<  in  'in-  transaction, 
Arrian,  hut  more  so  Aristobulus,  end*  avored  to  1  xi  ulpate  Al<  xandi  1  from 
the  charge  of  frequent  ebriety;   but  Menandei  plan,!  >ns  the  drunk- 

inn.  ,,  ,,i    Vlexandi  1  a>  proverbial." 

20.  Furies.  The  Eumenidcs,  or  avi  I  evil.  They  an  various!) 
tepresented  by  tie-  po<  ts.  1  u  hylusdi  -  rib<  -  them  ■«-  having  blai  k  bodies, 
hair  composed  of  twining  snakes,  and  eyes  dripping  with  blood, 


16S  JOHN  DRYDEN. 

21.  Grecian  ghosts.  The  spirits  of  the  Creek  warriors  in  Alexander's 
army  who  had  been  slain  by  the  Persians. 

22.  crew.  This  word  was  formerly  used  to  designate  any  associated 
multitude  or  assemblage  of  persons.  It  is  now  restricted  to  a  ship's  com- 
pany, except  when  occasionally  used  in  a  bad  sense.  From  A.-S.  cread, 
or  cruth,  a  crowd. 

23.  Thais  led  the  way,  etc.  See  note  19,  above.  Neither  Thais 
nor  Helen  actually  fired  any  city.  What  the  poet  means  to  say  is  that,  as 
Helen  was  the  cause  of  the  destruction  of  Troy,  so  Thais  instigated  the 
burning  of  Persepolis. 

24.  organs.  The  word  organ  originally  denoted  but  a  single  pipe, 
and  hence  the  older  English  writers,  when  referring  to  the  complete  instru- 
ment, generally  used  the  word  in  the  plural  number.  "  Father  Schmidt 
and  other  famous  organ-builders  flourished  in  the  latter  part  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  The  organ  in  Temple  Church,  London,  was  built  by 
Schmidt  in  Charles  II. 's  time." 

25.  vocal  frame.  The  organ  —  the  grand  instrument  of  church  music 
—  so  perfect  that  it  may  literally  be  said  to  speak.  See  introductory  note 
to  Pope's  "Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day,"  page  153. 

26.  St.  Cecilia,  according  to  the  story  in  the  "  Golden  Legend,"  was 
under  the  immediate  protection  of  an  angel.  But  it  was  not  her  sweet 
playing,  but  her  spotless  purity,  that  brought  the  angel  to  earth,  not  to 
listen,  but  to  be  "a  heavenly  guard." 

Compare  these  last  four  lines  with  those  at  the  close  of  Pope's  Ode. 

Dr.  Warton  says  of  "Alexander's  Least":  "If  Dryden  had  never 
written  anything  but  this  ode,  his  name  would  have  been  immortal,  as 
would  that  of  Gray,  if  he  had  never  written  anything  but  his  '  Bard.'  It  is 
difficult  to  find  new  terms  to  express  our  admiration  of  the  variety,  rich- 
ness, and  melody  of  its  numbers;  the  force,  beauty,  and  distinctness  of  its 
images;  the  succession  of  so  many  different  passions  and  feelings;  and 
the  matchless  perspicuity  of  its  diction.  No  particle  of  it  can  be  wished 
away,  but  the  epigrammatic  turn  of  the  four  concluding  lines." 

Hallam  says:  "This  ode  has  a  few  lines  mingled  with  a  far  greater 
number  ill  conceived  and  ill  expressed;  the  whole  composition  has  that 
spirit  which  Dryden  hardly  ever  wanted,  but  it  is  too  faulty  for  high 
praise.  It  used  to  pass  for  the  best  work  of  Lryden  and  the  best  ode  in 
the  language.  But  few  lines  are  highly  poetical,  and  some  sink  to  the 
level  of  a  common  drinking  song.  It  has  the  defects  as  well  as  the  merits 
of  that  poetry  which  is  written  for  musical  accompaniment." 


THE   FIRE    OF  LOXDOX.  169 


THE    FIRE    OF    LONDON. 
[from  "annus  mirabilis."] 

Such  was  the  rise  of  this  prodigious  fire,1 

Which,  in  mean  buildings  first  obscurely  bred, 

From  thence  did  soon  to  open  streets  aspire, 
And  straight  to  palaces  and  temples  spread. 

The  diligence  of  trades,  and  noiseful  gain, 
And  luxury,  more  late,  asleep  were  laid  ; 

All  was  the  Night's,  and  in  her  silent  reign 
No  sound  the  rest  of  Nature  did  invade. 

In  this  deep  quiet,  from  what  source  unknown,2 
Those  seeds  of  fire  their  fatal  birth  disclose; 

And  first  few  scattering  sparks  about  were  blown, 
Big  with  the  flames  that  to  our  ruin  rose. 

Then  in  some  close  pent  room  it  crept  along, 
And,  smouldering  as  it  went,  in  silence  U'A.  ; 

Till  the  infant  monster,  with  devouring  strong, 
Walk'd  boldly  uprighl  with  exalted  head. 

Now,  like  some  rich  or  mighty  murderer, 
Too  greal  for  prison  which  fie  breaks  with  gold, 

Who  fresher  for  new  mischiefs  does  appear, 
And  dare  i  the  world  to  tax  him  with  the  old, 

t he  insulting  fire  his  narrow  jail, 
And  makes  small  outlets  into  open  air; 
There  the  fieri  e  \\  inds  his  tender  fori  e  assail, 
And  beal  him  downward  to  his  firsl  repaii 


170  JOHN  DRYDEN. 

The  winds,  like  crafty  courtesans,  withheld 

His  flames  from  burning  but  to  blow  them  more 

And,  every  fresh  attempt,  he  is  repell'd 
With  faint  denials,  weaker  than  before. 

And  now,  no  longer  letted3  of  his  prey, 
He  leaps  up  at  it  with  enraged  desire, 

O'erlooks  the  neighbors  with  a  wide  survey, 
And  nods  at  every  house  his  threatening  fire. 

The  ghosts  of  traitors  from  the  Bridge4  descend, 
With  bold  fanatic  spectres  to  rejoice  ; 

About  the  fire  into  a  dance  they  bend, 

And  sing  their  sabbath  notes  with  feeble  voice. 

Our  guardian  angel  saw  them  where  they  sate, 
Above  the  palace  of  our  slumbering  King ; 

He  sighed,  abandoning  his  charge  to  Fate, 
And  drooping  oft  look'd  back  upon  the  wing. 

At  length  the  crackling  noise  and  dreadful  blaze 
Call'd  up  some  waking  lover  to  the  sight; 

And  lung  it  was  ere  he  the  rest  could  raise, 
Whose  heavy  eyelids  yet  were  full  of  night. 

The  next  to  danger,  hot  pursued  by  fate, 
Half-clothed,  half-naked,  hastily  retire  ; 

And  frighted  mothers  strike  their  breasts  too  late 
For  helpless  infants  left  amidst  the  fire. 

Their  cries  soon  waken  all  the  dwellers  near; 

Now  murmuring  noises  rise  in  every  street; 
The  more  remote  run  stumbling  with  their  fear, 

And  in  the  dark  men  justle  as  they  meet. 


THE   FIRE    OF  LONDON.  171 

So  weary  bees  in  little  cells  repose; 

But  if  night-robbers  lift  the  well-stored  hive, 
An  humming  through  their  waxen  city  grows, 

And  out  upon  each  other's  wings  they  drive.5 

Now  streets  grow  throng'd  and  busy  as  by  day ; 

Some  run  for  buckets  to  the  hallow'd  quire; 
Some  cut  the  pipes,  and  some  the  engines  play, 

And  some  more  bold  mount  ladders  to  the  fire. 

In  vain  ;   for  from  the  east  a  Belgian  wind 

His  hostile  breath  through  the  dry  rafters  sent; 

The  flames  impell'd  soon  left  their  foes  behind, 
And  forward  with  a  wanton  fury  went. 

A  key''  of  fire  ran  all  along  the  shore, 

And  lighten'd  all  the  river  with  a  blaze; 
The  waken'd  tides  began  again  to  roar, 

And  wondering  fish  in  sinning  waters  gaze. 

Old  Father  Thames  rais'd  up  his  reverend  head, 
Bui   fear'd  the  fate  of  Simois7  would  return; 

Deep  in  his  ooze  he  sought  his  sedgy  bed, 
And  shrank  his  waters  back  into  his  urn. 

Tin-  fire  meantime  walks  in  a  broader  gross;8 
To  cither  hand  his  wings  he  opens  wide; 

I  [e  w;ides  the  streets,  and  straighl  he  reaches  cross, 
And  plays  his  longing  flames  on  the  other  side. 

At  first  they  warm,  then  scorch,  and  then  they  take; 
Now  with  long  nei  ks  from  side  to  side  they  iced  ; 
At  length,  grown  strong,  their  mother-fire  forsake, 

And  ;i  new  colony  ol   ll.i  1 1 1<  \  SU(  I  eed. 


172  JOHX  DRYDEN. 

To  every  nobler  portion  of  the  town 

The  curling  billows  roll  their  restless  tide ; 

In  parties  now  they  straggle  up  and  down, 
As  armies  unopposed  for  prey  divide. 

One  mighty  squadron,  with  a  sidewind  sped, 

Through  narrow  lanes  his  cumber'd  fire  does  haste, 

By  powerful  charms  of  gold  and  silver  led 

The  Lombard  bankers  and  the  Change  to  waste. 

Another  backward  to  the  Tower  would  go, 
And  slowly  eats  his  way  against  the  wind ; 

But  the  main  body  of  the  marching  foe 
Against  the  imperial  palace  is  design'd. 

Now  day  appears ;  and  with  the  day  the  King, 
Whose  early  care  had  robb'd  him  of  his  rest; 

Far  off  the  cracks  of  falling  houses  ring, 

And  shrieks  of  subjects  pierce  his  tender  breast. 

Near  as  he  draws,  thick  harbingers  of  smoke 
With  gloomy  pillars  cover  all  the  place; 

Whose  little  intervals  of  night  are  broke 

By  sparks  that  drive  against  his  sacred  face. 

More  than  his  guards  his  sorrows  made  him  known, 
And  pious  tears  which  down  his  cheeks  did  shower; 

The  wretched  in  his  grief  forgot  their  own  ; 
So  much  the  pity  of  a  king  has  power. 

He  wept  the  flames  of  what  he  lov'd  so  well, 
And  what  so  well  had  merited  his  love ; 

For  never  prince  in  grace  did  niore  excel, 
Or  royal  city  more  in  duty  strove. 


THE   FIRE    OF  LONDON.  173 


NOTES. 

This  selection  from  Dryden's  long  ami  very  tedious  poem,  "Annus 
Mirabilis,  the  year  of  Wonders,  1666,"  is  given  here  as  a  specimen  of  that 

kind  of  mechanical  versification  so  popular  in  the  latter  half  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  "That  part  of  my  poem  which  describes  the  lire,"  says 
Dryden,  "  I  owe  first  to  the  piety  and  fatherly  affection  of  our  monarch  to 
his  suffering  subjects;  and,  in  the  second  place,  to  the  courage,  loyalty,  and 
magnanimity  of  the  city;  both  of  which  were  so  conspicuous  that  1  have 
wanted  words  to  celebrate  them  as  they  deserve.  And  I  have  chosen  to 
write  my  poem  in  quatrains  or  stanzas  of  four  in  alternate  rhyme,  because 
I  have  ever  judged  them  more  noble,  and  of  greater  dignity,  both  for  the 
sound  and  number,  than  any  other  verse  in  use  amongst  us."  'This  opinion, 
however,  was  certainly  not  long  maintained  by  the  [met,  for  he  never 
afterward  practised  that  form  of  versification  which  he  has  here  praised. 

1.  this  prodigious  fire.  A  half  sheet  published  immediately  after  the 
(ircat  lire  contains  this  account  of  the  catastrophe  which  Dryden  describes 
in  his  verses: 

"On  Sunday,  the  second  "I  September,  this  present  yeai  !(><>(>,  about 
one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  there  happened  a  sad  and  deplorable  fire  in 
Pudding-lane  mar  ,\V.  Ft  i  street;  which,  falling  out  in  a  part  of  the 
city  so  close  built  \\  i I li  wooden  houses  ...  in  a  short  time  bet  .one  too 
big  to  be  mastered  by  any  engines  or  working  near  it.  .  .  .  It  continued 
all  M011  lay  and  Tuesday  with  such  impetuosity,  that  it  consumed  houses 
and  ( Imp  hes  all  the  way  to  St.  Dunstan'i  Church,  in  Fleet-street;  at  whi<  h 
time,  by  the  favour  ol  God,  the  wind  slackened;  and  thai  night,  by  the 
vigilancy,  industry,  and  indefatigable  pains  of  his  Majesty  and  his  Royal 
Highness,  calling  upon  all  people,  and  encouraging  them  by  their  personal 
put  to  the  fire  in  Fle<  I  itn  •  1. 1  tc.  Bui  on  Wednes- 
day night  it  suddenly  broke  out  afresh  in  the  Inner  Temple.  I  Ms  Royal 
Highness  in  person  fortunately  watching  there  thai   night,  by  his 

diligence,    great    labour,    and    seasonable    commands    for    the    blowing    up, 

with  gunpowder,  some  ol  the  said  buildings,  it  was  si  happily  befon 

day  extinguished." 

2.  source  unknown.  "It  was  ascribed  by  the  rage  ol  the  people 
either  to  the  Republicans  or  the  Catholii  illy  the  latter.  An  in 
icription  on  the  monumi  nt,  in/i  nded  to  perpetuate  thisgroundli    -  luspi 

•  rased  by  [am<  1  II..  bul  r<  itored  al  the  Revolution."       Warton 

3.  letted.     Hind,  re, 1.    This  use  of  the  word  let  is  now  obsolete,  except 


17-1  JOHN  DRY  DEN. 

in  the  phrase,  "Without  let  or  hindrance."     It  was  frequently  employed 
by  the  older  writers. 

"  What  lets  but  one  may  enter  ?  "  —  Shakespeare. 

4.  the  Bridge.  The  heads  of  traitors  were  displayed  on  London 
Bridge.  "How  inferior  is  this  passage,"  says  Dr.  Dodd,  "to  Milton's 
animated  description  of  the  wild  ceremonies  of  Moloch,  which  Dryden, 
however,  seems  to  have  here  had  in  mind."  See  "  Ode  on  the  Nativity," 
stanza  xxiii. 

5.  The  simile  in  this  stanza  was  doubtless  intended  to  be  very  effective. 

6.  key.     Quay.     A  bank,  or  ledge. 

7.  Simois.     See  Homer's  "  Iliad,"  Bk.  XXI. 

8.  gross.     Bulk. 


-oo'^OO- 


REASON    AND    RELIGION. 
[from  "KELIGIO  laici."] 

Dim  as  the  borrow'd  beams  of  moon  and  stars 

To  lonely,  weary,  wand'ring  travellers, 

Is  Reason  to  the  soul :  and  as  on  high, 

Those  rolling  fires  discover  but  the  sky, 

Not  light  us  here ;  so  Reason's  glimmering  ray 

Was  lent,  not  to  assure  our  doubtful  way, 

But  guide  us  upward  to  a  better  day. 

And  as  those  nightly  tapers  disappear, 

When  day's  bright  lord  ascends  our  hemisphere  ; 

So  pale  grows  Reason  at  Religion's  sight ; 

So  dies,  and  so  dissolves  in  supernatural  light. 

Some  few  whose  light  shone  brighter,  have  been  led 

From  cause  to  cause,  to  nature's  secret  head ; 

And  found  that  one  first  principle  must  be, 

But  what,  or  who,  that  Universal  He; 

Whether  some  soul  incompassing  this  ball, 

Unmade,  unmov'd,  yet  making,  moving  all, 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE.  175 

Or  various  atoms'  interfering  dance 

Leap'd  into  form,  the  noble  work  of  chance, 

Or  this  great  All  was  from  eternity  — 

Not  even  the  Stagirite  himself  could  see, 

And  Epicurus  guess'd  as  well  as  he, 

As  blindly  groped  they  for  a  future  state, 

As  rashly  judged  of  providence  and  fate. 

In  this  wild  maze  their  vain  endeavors  end: 

How  can  the  less  the  greater  comprehend  ? 

Or  finite  Reason  reach  Infinity  ? 

For  what  could  fathom  God  were  more  than  He. 

>xj',«<oo 

BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

John  Dryden  was  born  on  the  9th  of  August,  163 1,  at  Aidwincle 
All  Saints,  mar  Oundle  in  Northamptonshire.  He  was  educated  at 
Westminster  School,  under  the   famous    Dr.    Busby,  and   at   Trinity 

College,  Cambridge.  .\t  the  age  of  twenty-six  he  went  up  to  Lon- 
don with  the  intention  of  devoting  himself  to  literature  and  politics. 

During  the  brief  remaining  wars  of  the  Commonwealth  ( [657-11 
he  was  nominally  a  friend  to  the  Puritan  party;  and  one  of  tin-  first 
poems  written  by  him  was  a  sei  ies  of  ■•  1  [eroic  Stan/as  on  the  I  >eath 
oi  Oliver  Cromwell.'1  At  the  Restoration  In-  at  once  espoused  the 
cause  of  the  Royalists;  and  his  recent  panegyric  on  the  Protector 
did  not   prevent  him   from   writing  a  poem,  "Astraea   Redux,"  in 

honor  ol  tin-  return  of  Charles  the  Second.      In   [663  he  married  the 

!  Elizabeth   Howard,  a  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Berkshire,  a 

Royalist  nobleman,     for  several  years  he  devoted  himseli  chiefly 
to  the  writing  of  plays,  —  comedies,  tragedies,  and  tragi-co 
Tin-  comedies  he  wrote  in  prose;   the  earliest  tragedies  in  blank 
.  followed  by  several  in  rhyme,  and,  after  these,  others  in  I /lank 

In    [670   In-    was   appointed    I  \ ,.  1    I  .mi  eate.       In    [68l,   when 

nearl)  fift)  years  old,  by  the  publication  ol  "Absalom  and  Achit- 
ophel,"  he  suddenly  became  famous  as  a  satirical  poet.  He  soon 
afterwards  wrote  "  The  Medal,"  anothei  satire,  directed  I  the 

Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  and"Ma<   Flecknoe,"  aimed  al  Shadwell,  the 


176  JOHN  DRYDEN. 

chief  pod  of  the  Opposition.  At  about  the  same  time  lie  produced 
••  Religio  Laid,"  a  didactic  poem  explaining  his  religious  opinions 
and  defending  the  Church  of  England  against  dissenters,  atheists, 
and  Catholics.  Not  long  after  the  accession  of  James  II.,  Dryden, 
true  to  his  policy  of  being  always  on  the  side  of  the  ruling  party, 
became  a  Catholic,  and  wrote  "The  Hind  and  the  Panther,"  in 
which  he  eulogized  many  things  that,  in  the  former  poem,  he  had 
ridiculed.  His  political  career  ended  with  the  overthrow  of  James 
II.,  in  i6S8  ;  but  his  literary  activity  continued  unabated.  The  last 
years  of  his  life  were  occupied  in  translating  the  works  of  Persius 
and  Juvenal  and  the  /Eneid  of  Virgil.  In  1697  he  wrote  ''Alexan- 
der's Feast  "  ;  and  his  "  modernizations  "  of  some  of  Chaucer's  poems 
appeared  in  1700,  the  year  of  his  death. 

"If  there  is  grandeur  in  the  pomp  of  kings  and  the  march  of 
hosts,1''  says  A.  W.  Ward,  "in  the  'trumpet's  loud  clangor'  and  in 
tapestries  and  carpetings  of  velvet  and  gold,  Dryden  is  to  be  ranked 
with  the  grandest  of  English  poets.  The  irresistible  impetus  of  an 
invective  which  never  falls  short  or  fiat,  and  the  savor  of  a  satire 
which  never  seems  dull  or  stale,  give  him  an  undisputed  place 
among  the  most  glorious  of  English  wits." 

"His  descriptive  power  was  of  the  highest,"  says  Hales.  "Our 
literature  has  in  it  no  more  vigorous  portrait-gallery  than  that  he  has 
bequeathed  it.  His  power  of  expression  is  beyond  praise.  There 
is  always  a  singular  fitness  in  his  language:  he  uses  always  the 
right  word.  He  is  one  of  our  greatest  masters  of  metre :  metre 
was,  in  fact,  no  restraint  to  him,  but  rather  it  seems  to  have  given 
him  freedom.  It  has  been  observed  that  he  argues  better  in  verse 
than  in  prose  ;   verse  was  the  natural  costume  of  his  thoughts." 

Professor  Masson  says:  "  Not  only  is  Dryden  the  largest  figure 
in  one  era  of  our  literature;  he  is  a  very  considerable  figure  also  in 
our  literature  as  a  whole.  Of  all  that  he  wrote,  however,  there  is 
but  a  comparatively  small  portion  that  has  won  for  itself  a  perma- 
nent place  in  our  literature." 

Other  Poems  to  be  Read  :  Absalom  and  Achitophel ;   Mac  Flecknoe; 

Religio  I.aici;   Threnodia  Augustalis. 

Rki-ikim  ks:  Johnson's  Lives  of  the  Poets;  Ila/litt's  English  Poets; 
Lowell's  Among  My  Books ;  Macaulay's  Essay  on  John  Dryden;  Taine's 
English  Literature ;  Masson's  Lliree  Devils  and  Other  Essays;  Thack- 
eray's English  Humorists. 


3obn  flIMUon. 


-*o^;o»- 


ON  THE  MORNING  OF  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY. 

i. 

This  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  morn, 
Wherein  the  Son  of  Heav'ns  eternal  King, 
Of  wedded  Maid  and  Virgin  mother  born, 
Our  great  redemption  from  above  did  bring: 
For  so  the  holy  Sages  once  did  sing: 

That  he  our  deadly  forfeit  should  release,1 
And  with  his  Father  work  us  a  perpetual  peace. 

• 

[i. 

The  glorious  form,  that  light  unsufferable, 
And  thai  far  beaming  blaze  of  majesty, 
Wherewith  he  wont-  at  Heav'ns  high  council-table 

To  sit  the  midst  ol  Ti  inal   ( 'nit y, 

1 1>   1  iid  a  side  ;  and,  here  with  us  to  be, 
Forsook  the  courts  of  everlasting  day, 
And  <  hose  with  us  a  darksome  house  of  mortal  cla) 

in. 
,  heav'nly  muse,  shall  not  thy  sai  red  vein 
Afford  .1  pr<    enl  to  the  I  nfanl  <  rod  ? 
1 1     t  thou  no  vers,  no  hymn,  or  .solemn  strein 
To  welcome  him  to  this  his  new  abode 

'77 


178  yOJ/X  MI  I.  TON. 

Now  while  the  Hcav'n  by  the  suns  team  untrod 
Hath  took  no  print  of  the  approaching  light, 
And   all    the   spangled   host   keep   watch   in  squadrons 
bright  ? 

IV. 

See  how  from  far  upon  the  eastern  rode 

The  star-led  Wisards4  haste  with  odours  sweet; 

O  run,  prevent5  them  with  thy  humble  ode, 

And  lay  it  lowly  at  his  blessed  feet ; 

Have  thou  the  honour  first  thy  Lord  to  greet, 

And  join  thy  voice  unto  the  angel  quire,6 
From  out  his  secret  altar  toucht  with  hallow'd  fire. 


THE    HYMN. 

I. 

It  was  the  winter  wilde 

While  the  Heav'n-born  childe 
All  meanly  wrapt  in  the  rude  manger  lies; 

Nature  in  aw  of  him 

Had  doff't  her  gaudy  trim, 
With  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathize- 

It  was  no  season  then  for  her 

To  wanton  with  the  sun  her  lusty  paramour.7 

n. 

Onely  with  speeches  fair 

She  woo's  the  gentle  air 
To  hide  her  guilty  front  with  innocent  snow, 

And  on  her  naked  shame, 

Pollute  with  sinful]  blame, 
The  saintly  veil  of  maiden8  white  to  throw  : 


ON   THE  MORNING    OF  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY.       179 

Confounded  that  her  Makers  eyes 

Should  look  so  near  upon  her  foul  deformities. 

in. 

But  he,  her  fears  to  cease, 

Sent  down  the  meek-eyed  Peace  , 
She,  crown'd  with  olive  green,  came  softly  sliding 

Down  through  the  turning  sphear,9 

His  ready  harbinger,1" 
With  turtle11  wing  the  amorous  clouds  dividing, 

And,  waving  wide  her  mirtle  wand, 

She   strikes  a  universall   peace  1J  through  sea  and 
land. 

IV. 

No  war,  or  battails  sound, 

Was  heard  the  world  around  ; 
The  idle  spear  and  shield  were  high  up  hung; 

The  hooked  chariot  1:!  stood 

Unstain'd  with  hostile  blood; 
The  trumpet  spake  not  to  the  armed  throng; 

And  kings  sate  still  with  awful!  eye,14 

As  it  they  surely  knew  their  sovran  Lord  was  by. 

v. 

But  peaceful!  was  the  night 

Wherein  the  Print  e  <<i  I  .ighl 
I  lis  raign  o!  pea<  e  upon  the  earl  h  began  , 

The  windes,  with  wonder  whist,1. 

Smoothly  the  waters  kist, 
Whispering  new  ,         to  the  milde  01  ean, 

Who  now  hath  quite  loi  gol  to  i  ave, 

While  birds  ol  calm  sil  brooding  on  the  charmed 

wave. 


ISO  JOII.X  MILTON. 


VI. 


The  stars,  with  deep  amaze, 
Stand  fixt  in  stedfast  gaze, 
Bending  one  way  their  precious  influence,16 
And  will  not  take  their  flight 


For  n  all  the  morning  light 


Or  Lucifer 18  that  often  warn'd  them  thence ; 
But  in  their  glimmering  orbs  did  glow, 
Untill  their  Lord  himself  bespake,  and  bid  them  go. 


VII. 

And,  though  the  shady  Gloom 

Had  given  day  her  room, 
The  sun  himself  withheld  his  wonted  speed, 

And  hid  his  head  for  shame, 

As  his  inferiour  flame 
The  new-enlightn'd  world  no  more  should  need ; 

He  saw  a  greater  sun  appear 

Than  his  bright  throne  or  burning  axle-tree 19  could 
bear. 


VIII. 

The  shepherds  on  the  lawn20 

Or  ere21  the  point  of  dawn 
Sate  simply  chatting  in  a  rustick  row ; 

Full  little  thought  they  than 

That  the  mighty  Pan  n 
Was  kindly  com  to  live  with  them  below  ; 

Perhaps  their  loves,  or  else  their  sheep, 

Was  all  that  did  their  silly  ^  thoughts  so  busie  keep, 


OX    THE   MORNING    OF  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY.        1S1 

IX. 

When  such  rausick  sweet 

Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet 
As  never  was  by  mortall  finger  strook,24 

Divinely  warbled  voice 

Answering  the  stringed  noise25 
As  all  their  souls  in  blissfull  rapture  took ; 

The  air,  such  pleasure  loth  to  lose, 

With  thousand  echo's  still  prolongs  each  heav'nly 
close.20 

x. 

Nature  that  heard  such  sound 

Heneath  the  hollow  round-7 
Of  Cynthia's  scat  the  airy  region  thrilling, 

Now  was  almost  won 

To  think  her  part  was  don, 
And  that  her  raign  had  here  its  -s  last  fulfilling; 

She  knew  such  harmony  alone 

Could  hold  all  Heav'n  and  Earth  in  happier  union. 


XI. 

At  last  surrounds  their  sight 
A  globe  of  circular  light, 

That  with  long  beams  the  shame  fac'1  Nighl  array'd; 

The  helmed  Cherubim,28 

I  he  sworded  Seraphim 
Are  seen  in  glittering  ranks  with  wings  displaied, 

I  [arping  in  loud  and  solemn  quire 

With   unexpressive  *  notes  to   Heav'n's   new-born 
Heir. 


1S2  yoi/.V  MILTON. 

XII. 

Such  musick  (as  'tis  said) 

Before  was  never  made 
But  when  of  old  the  sons  of  Morning  sung,31 

While  the  Creator  great 

His  constellation  set, 
And  the  well-ballanc't  world  on  hinges32  hung, 

And  cast  the  dark  foundations  deep, 

And  bid  the  weltring  a'5  waves  their  oozy  channel 
keep. 

XIII. 

Ring  out,  ye  crystall  sphears  ; 34 

Once  bless  our  humane  ears 
(If  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  so), 

And  let  your  silver  chime 

Move  in  melodious  time, 
And  let  the  base  of  Heav'ns  deep  organ  blow, 

And  with  your  ninefold  harmony 

Make  up  full  consort35  to  th'  angelike  symphony. 


XIV. 

For,  if  such  holy  song 

Enwrap  our  fancy  long, 
Time  will  run  back  and  fetch  the  age  of  Gold;86 

And  speckl'd  Vanity 

Will  sicken  soon  and  die, 
And  leprous  sin  will  melt  from  earthly  mould  ; 3T 

And  Hell  itself  will  pass  away, 

And  leave  her38  dolorous  mansions  to  the  peering 
day. 


ON   THE  MORNING   OF  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY.        183 

XV. 

Yea,  Truth  and  Justice  then 

Will  down  return  to  men, 
Orb'd  in  a  rainbow  ;  and,  like  glories  wearing, 

Mercy  will  set  between, 

Thron'd  in  celestiall  sheen, 
With  radiant  feet  the  tissued  clouds  down  stearing ; 

And  Heav'n,  as  at  som  festivall, 

Will  open  wide  the  gates  of  her  high  palace  hall.39 


XVI. 

But  wisest  Fate  sayes  no; 

This  must  not  yet  be  so ; 
The  Babe  lies  yet  in  smiling  infancy, 

That  on  the  bitter  cross  '" 

Must  redeem  our  loss, 
So  both  himself  and  us  to  glorifie; 

Yet  first  to  those  ychain'd  "  in  sleep 

The    wakeful]    trump  a  of    doom    must    thundei 
through  the  deep. 

XVII. 

With  such  a  horrid  clang 

As  on  Mount  Sinai  rang,*8 
While  the  red  fire  and  smould'ring  clouds  out  brake; 

The  aged  Earth,  agast, 

With  terrour  oi  thai  blast, 
Shall  from  the  surface  to  the  <  enter  shake ; 

When  al  the  worlds  lasl  session  " 

The  dreadful!  Judge  in  middle  air  shall  spread  his 
throne 


1S4  JOHN  MILTON. 

XVIII. 

And  then  at  last  our  bliss 

Full  and  perfect  is, 
But  now  begins ;   for  from  this  happy  day, 

Th'  old  Dragon45  under  ground, 

In  straiter  limits  bound, 
Not  half  so  far  casts  his  usurped  sway ; 

And,  wroth  to  see  his  kingdom  fail, 

Swindges46  the  scaly  horrour  of  his  foulded  tail. 


XIX. 

The  oracles  are  dumm  ; 4T 

No  voice  or  hideous  hunim 
Runs  through  the  arched  roof  in  words  deceiving. 

Apollo  from  his  shrine 

Can  no  more  divine, 
With  hollow  shreik  the  steep  of  Delphos  48  leaving. 

No  nightly  trance,  or  breathed  spell, 

Inspires  the  pale-ey'd  Priest  from  the  prophetic  cell. 


xx. 

The  lonely  mountains  o'er 

And  the  resounding  shore 
A  voice  of  weeping  l:'  heard  and  loud  lament ; 

From  haunted  spring  and  dale 

Edged  with  poplar  pale 
The  parting r/l  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent ; 

With  floure-inwov'n  tresses  torn 

The  nimphs  in  twilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets 
mourn. 


ON   THE  MORNING    OF  CHRIST'S  NAT/177):        185' 

XXI. 

In  consecrated  earth, 

And  on  the  holy  hearth  B1 
The  Lars  and  Lemures  moan  with  midnight  plaint 

In  urns  and  altars  round, 

A  drear  and  dying  sound 
Affrights  the  Flamins52  at  their  service  quaint 

And  the  chill  marble  seems  to  sweat, 

While   each    peculiar   power   forgoes""1  his  wonted 
seat. 


XXII. 

Peor  and  Baalim  M 
Forsake  their  temples  dim, 
With  that  twise  batter'd  god"'  <>t  Palestine; 

And  mooned  Ashtaroth, 
Heav'ns  queen  and  mother  both, 
Now  sits  not  girt  with  tapers  holy  shine; 
The  Lybic  Hammon  shrinks  his  horn; 
In  vain  the  Tyrian  maids  their  wounded  Thammuz 
mourn  ;  '"' 


win. 

And  sullen  Moloch,  fled, 

1 1  ith  lefl  in  shadows  dred :,: 
His  burning  idol  all  ol  bla<  kest  hue  ; 

In  vain  with  <  ymbals  ring 

They  call  the  grisly68  King 
In  dismall  dan<  e  aboul  the  I  m  nace  blue  ; 

The  brutish  v'  gods  "I    Nil,    .,      fast, 

[sis,  and  ( )rus,  and  tin-  dog  Anubis  la  I 


1S6  JOHN  MILTON. 

XXIV. 

Nor  is  Osiris  seen 

In  Memphian  grove  or  green 
Trampling  the  unshowr'd  grass60  with  lowings  loud, 

Nor  can  he  be  at  rest 

Within  his  sacred  chest ; 
Naught  but  profoundest  hell  can  be  his  shroud  ; 

In  vain  with  timbrel'd  anthems  dark 

The  sable-stoled  sorcerers  bear  his  worshipt  ark. 


xxv. 

He  feels  from  Judas  land 

The  dredded  Infants  hand  ; 
The  rayes  of  Bethlehem  blind  his  dusky  eyn  ; 61 

Nor  all  the  gods  beside 

Longer  dare  abide, 
Not  Typhon  huge  ending  in  snaky  twine : 

Our  Babe,  to  show  his  Godhead  true, 

Can  in   his  swaddling  bands  controul  the  damned 
crew. 

XXVI. 

So,  when  the  Sun  in  bed,62 

Curtain 'd  with  cloudy  red 
Pillows  his  chin  upon  an  orient  wave, 

The  flocking  shadows  pale 

Troop  to  th'  infernal  jail ; 
Each  fetter'd  ghost  slips  to  his  severall  grave; 

And  the  yellow-skirted  Fayes 

Fly  after  the  night-steeds,  leaving  their  moon-lov'd 
maze. 


ON   THE  MORNING    OF  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY.        1S7 

XXVII. 

But  see  the  Virgin  blest 

Hath  laid  her  Babe  to  rest; 
Time  is  our  tedious  song  should  here  have  ending ; 

Heav'ns  youngest  teemed63  star 

I  [ath  fixt  her  polish'd  car, 
Her  sleeping  Lord  with  handmaid  lamp  attending; 

And  all  about  the  courtly  stable 

Bright-harness'd  angels  sit  in  order  serviceable. ',l 


NOTES. 


This  poem  was  begun  by  Milton  <m  Christmas  day,  1629.  lie  had 
then  just  completed  Ids  twenty-first  year,  and  was  still  an  undergraduate 
at  '  hrist's  College,  Cambridge.  From  certain  fragments  ami  other  evi- 
dence, it  is  believed  that  be  contemplated  writing  a  series  oi  poems  on 

jjreat  Christian  events  in  a  similar  way.     This  is  the  iirst  poem  of  importance 
which   he  wrote.       Ilallam   speaks   of   it   as   perhaps   the    litx>t    lyric   <>l    its 

kind  in  the  English  language.  "  A  grandeur,  a  simplicity,  a  breadth  of 
manner,  an  imagination  at  onca  elevated  and  restrained  by  the  subject, 
throughout  it.  If  Pindar  is  a  model  of  lyric  poetry,  it  would  be  bai  l 
t « »  name  any  other  ode  so  truly  Pindaric;  but  inure  has  naturally  been 
derived  tr the  Si  ripturi 

1.  our  deadly  forfeit  should  release.  Should  remit  the  penalty  of 
death  pronounced  against  u>.     shakes]  a  similar  use  oi  the  word 

"forfeit." 

1  ndei    I  forgive,  and  therewithal 

Remit  thv  othei  forfi  i( 

\l,  .1   //>  r   I   >     \/,  .;  tut  >',   Act  V,  I 

2.  wont.  The  past  tense  ol  the  A  S  verb  wunian,  t"  persist,  t" 
continue,  t..  be  accustomed.     Mow   used   only  in  connection  with 

for 1  the  auxiliary  verb  be. 

3.  I  xplain  the  me  nun.:  ■•!  each  word  in  this  line,  and  "I  the  whole 
line.     The  next  t  ■  ,  <  omprise  ^n  invoi  ation  to  the  Mu       1  Po<  try 

1  1 


1SS  JOHN  MILTON. 

4.  Wisards.  Wizards.  Wise  men.  The  word  was  originally  used  in 
this  sense,  and  not  with  the  depreciatory  meaning  of  "magician,"  as  at 
present.     Spenser  says : 

"  Therefore  the  antique  wizards  well  invented 
That  Venus  of  the  fomy  sea  was  bred," 

meaning  by  "  antique  wizards  "  ancient  philosophers. 

5.  prevent.  Go  before;  the  original  meaning  of  the  word,  from  Lat. 
pra,  before,  and  venio,  to  go  or  come. 

"  I  prevented  the  dawning  of  the  morning."  —  Psalm  cxix.  147. 
"  I  will  have  nothing  to  hinder  me  in  the  morning,  for  I  will  prevent  the  sun 
rising."  —  Izaak  Walton,  Compleat  Angler. 

6.  angel  quire.  "And  suddenly  there  was  with  the  angel  a  multitude 
of  the  heavenly  host  praising  God."  —  Luke  ii.  13. 

7.  paramour.     See  note  9,  page  80. 

8.  maiden.     Pure,  innocent,  unpolluted.     Compare 

"  When  I  am  dead,  strew  me  o'er 
With  maiden  flowers." 

—  Shakespeare,  Henry  VIII,  Act  iv,  sc.  2. 

9.  turning  sphear.  The  Ptolemaic  system  of  astronomy  taught  that 
the  earth  was  the  centre  of  the  universe,  and  that  all  the  heavenly  bodies 
revolved  about  it,  being  fixed  in  a  complicated  framework,  or  series  of 
hollow  crystalline  spheres  moving  one  within  the  other.  The  "  turning 
sphear"  is  here  this  entire  system  of  revolving  spheres.  See  note  34, 
below. 

10.  harbinger.  One  who  provides  a  resting-place  for  a  superior  per- 
son. It  was  the  duty  of  the  king's  harbinger,  when  the  court  removed 
from  one  place  to  another,  to  provide  lodgings  for  the  king's  retinue. 
Derived  from  harbor,  harborage.  The  word  "harbor"  is  from  A.-S.  here, 
army,  and  beorg,  a  refuge.  Others  derive  the  word  from  har,  a  message, 
and  bringer  —  hence,  one  who  brings  a  message,  a  herald. 

I'arkes's  Topography  of  Hampstead,  1818,  contains  the  following: 
"The  office  of  harbinger  still  exists  in  the  Royal  Household,  the  nominal 

duty  of  the  officer  being  to  ride  one  stage  onward  before  the  king  on  his 

progress,  to  provide  lodging  and  provision  for  the  court." 

The  last  knight-harbinger  was  Sir  Henry  Rycroft  (appointed  in   1816, 

died    October,    1846,   aged    eighty)-      The    office    became    extinct    at    his 

death. 

11.  turtle.  Commonly  turtle-dove.  For  history  of  the  word  as  now 
applied  to  the  tortoise,  see  Worcester's  Dictionary. 

12.  universall  peace.     About  the  time  of  the  birth  of  Christ  there 


ON   THE   MORNING    OF  CHRIST 'S  NATIVITY.        1S9 

was  peace   throughout  the   Roman  Empire,  and  the  temple  of  Janus  was 
shut. 

13.  hooked  chariot.  The  war-chariot  armed  with  scythes,  a  Celtic 
invention  adopted  by  the  Romans. 

14.  awfull  eye.     We  would  say,  "awe-filled  eyes." 

sovran.  Old  French  souverain.  Some  derive  it  from  Lat.  supra, 
above,  and  regno,  t"  reign. 

15.  whist.  Hushed.  This  word,  now  used  as  a  sort  of  interjection 
commanding  silence,  seems  to  have  hail  in  earlier  English  more  of  a  verbal 
meaning,  as  Spenser  in  "The  Faerie  Queene,"  VII,  vii,  59: 

"  So  was  the  Titaness  put  downe  and  whist." 
It  also  meant  to  keep  silent,  as  in  Surrey's  "  Virgil  "  : 

"  They  whisted  all,  with  fixed  face  intent." 

A  game  of  cards  in  which  the  players  are  supposed  to  keep  silent  is 
called  whist. 

birds  of  calm.     Halcyons.     See  note  1,  page  78. 

16.  influence.  From  Lat.  in,  into,  and  fluo,  to  flow.  This  word, 
until  a  comparatively  modern  date,  was  always  used  with  respect  t"  the 
supposed  mysterious  rays  or  aspects  flowing  from  the  stars  to  the  earth, 
and  thus  having  a  Strang'-  power  over  the  fortunes  of  men.  "Canst  thou 
bind  the  sweet  intluences  of  the  Pleiades?  "  —  Job  xxviii.  31. 

"  Happy  constellations  on  that  hour 

Shed  their  selectest  influences." 

—  Paradise  Lost,  VIII,  512. 

17.  For.      Notwithstanding. 

18.  Lucifer.      The    morning   star.      The    idea   of    Ian  iter   appearing   to 

warn  the  stars  "I  th<  approat  h  of  the  sun  is  a  happy  figure.    See  note  7, 

80. 

19.  axle-tree.  Axis.  Tree  in  I  >.  E.  is  used  to  signify  beam.  We 
siill  have  tingle-tree,  double-tree,  whiffle-tree,  etc.     Compare  "Comus,"  95: 

"  'I  li«-  gilded  cat  "t  day 
III.  glowing  axle  doth  allay." 

20.  lawn.     Used   in  its  original  sense  ol   a  pasture,  <>r  open,  grs 

I  ormerly  laund.     similarly  we  have  lane,  an  opt  n  passage  I"  1 
houses  '>r  fields 

2i.  Or  ere.  < >>  is  here  used  in  its  old  sense,  meaning  be/ore,  from 
A.s.  ar,     Ere      e'er,  ever.    Compare   Et  kh.  6i  "Oi  evei  the 

I   In-  l".,x.  d  "       AISO  "  Km'.'    I  ■■  ai,"   .V  t    11,   >'  .  .)  : 

"  Bul  'in    heart 
Shall  break  mi"  a  hundn  ■!  thou  and  11 1 
1  )\  er<   I'll  weep." 


190  JOHN  MILTON. 

22.  Pan.  Sec  note,  page  72.  The  application  of  the  name  Pan  to 
Christ  is  evidently  derived  from  Spenser.      See  "  Shepheards  Calendar," 

July 

"  And  such,  I  ween,  the  brethren  were 
That  came  from  Canaan, 
The  brethren  Twelve,  that  kept  yfere 
The  flocks  of  mightie  Pun." 

In  the  Glosse  to  the  Calendar  for  May  it  is  said  that  "Great  Pan  is 
Christ,  the  very  Cud  of  all  shepheards,  which  calleth  himsclfe  the  great 
and  good  shepheard.  The  name  is  must  rightly  (mcthinks)  applied  to 
him;  fur  Pan  signilicth  all,  or  omnipotent,  which  is  only  the  Lord  Iesus. 
And  by  that  name  (as  I  remember)  he  is  called  of  Lusebius  in  his  fifth 
booke,  De  Preparat.  Evange." 

23.  silly.  From  A.-S.  saelig,  blessed,  happy.  Spenser  uses  the  word 
in  the  sense  of  innocent,  as  in  "  Faerie  Queene,"  III,  viii,  27: 

"  The  silly  virgin  strove  him  to  withstand." 

Chaucer,  in  the  "  Reves  Tale,"  uses  it  in  the  more  modern  sense  of  simple, 

or  foolish : 

"  These  sely  clerkes  ban  ful  fast  yronne." 

But  in  the  "  Legend  of  Good  Women  "  it  has  another  meaning: 

"  O  sely  woman,  full  of  innocence." 
The  meaning  of  this  word  has  completely  changed. 

24.  strook.  Caused  to  sound  as  on  a  stringed  instrument.  Compare 
Lrydcn  in  "Alexander's  Feast": 

"  Now  strike  the  golden  lyre  again." 

25.  noise.  A  company  of  musicians  under  a  leader.  Used  in  this 
sense  by  both  Shakespeare  and  Pen  Jonson. 

26.  close.     Cadence.     See  Dryden,  "  Fables  " : 

"At  every  close  she  made,  th"  attending  throng 
Replied,  and  bore  the  burden  of  the  song." 

27.  hollow  round.  The  sphere  in  which  the  moon  has  its  motion. 
See  notes  9  and  34. 

Cynthia.  The  moon.  In  the  ancient  mythology  applied  to  Artemis, 
from  Mount  Cynthus  in  the  island  of  Delos,  her  birthplace. 

28.  its.  In  all  his  poetry,  Milton  uses  this  word  only  three  times. 
The  other  examples  are  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  I,  254,  and  IV,  814.  This 
possessive  form  of  the  pronoun  /'/was  never  used  until  the  time  of  Shake- 
speare, who  employs  it  five  times  in  "  A  Winter's  Tale,"  and  once  in 
"Measure  for  Measure";  it  does  not  occur  anywhere  in  the  authorized 
version  of  the  Bible. 


ON   THE   MORNING    OF  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY.        191 

29.  Why  are  the  Cherubim  "  helmed,"  while  the  Seraphim  are  "sword- 
ed  "?  Addison  says,  ••  Some  of  the  rabbins  tell  us  that  the  cherubims  are 
a  set  of  angels  who  know  most,  and  the  seraphims  a  set  of  angels  who 
love  most."  Observe  that  the  plural  of  eherub  or  of  seraph  may  be  formed 
in  three  ways:  viz.  cherubs,  cherubim,  cherubims;  seraphs,  seraphim, 
seraphims. 

30.  unexpressive.     Inexpressible.     See  Shakespeare,  "As  You  Like 

If: 

"  The  fair,  the  chaste,  the  unexpressive  she." 

Also  Milton,  "  I.ycidas,"  176: 

"And  hears  the  unexpressive  nuptiall  song." 

31.  the  sons  of  Morning  sung.  See  Job  xxxviii.  4-7,  the  oldest 
reference  to  the  "  music  <>f  the  spheres. "      Sec  note  34,  below. 

32.  hinges.  Literally,  a  hinge  is  anything  for  hanging  something 
upon.     From  A.-S.  hangian. 

33.  weltring.     Rolling,  wallowing.     See  "  I.ycidas,"  13. 

34.  Ring  out.  An  allusion  t.>  the  music  of  the  spheres.  See  note  27, 
above.  The  theory  of  Pythagoras  was  that  the  distances  between  the 
heavenly  bodies  win-  determined  by  the  laws  of  musical  concord.  "These 
orbs  in  their  motion  could  not  but  produce  a  certain  sound  or  note,  depend- 
ing upon  their  distances  and  velocities;  and  as  these  were  regulated  by 
harmonic  laws,  they   necessarily  formed  as  a  whole  a  complete   musical 

"  In  the  whorl  of  the  distaff  of  necessity  there  are  eight  concentric 
whorl-,.  These  whorls  represent  respectively  the  sun  and  moon,  the  five 
planets,  and  tin-  fixed  stars.  On  each  whorl  sits  a  siren  singing.  Their 
eight  ton.-,  make  one  exquisite  harmony."  Milton  added  a  ninth  whorl, 
—  "that  swift  nocturnal  and  diurnal  ilioinb,"  —  and  then  spoke  (>i  the 
"  ninefold  harmony,"  ;i-  just  below.    This  was  a  favorite  idea  with  the  po<  1  \ 

"Sure  she  was  nighei  i"  heaven's  sphen    . 
1     tening  the  lordly  music  Mow  ing  from 
'I  he  illimitabli 

—  Tennyson,  (\lri,i  Memory, 

"  l  he  urn  ii  of  Hi.    ;'■•■■    '  li^t,  my  Mariana !  " 

Shakespeare,  Pericles,  A<  t  v,  sc.  1. 

"  There's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  behold'st 
Bui  in  in  -  motion  like  an  angi  I  sin 
Si  ill  quiring  to  tin-  young-cy<  d  cherubim 

Shakespeare,  Merchant  of  l'<-m,i-,  A.  t  v,  si    1 

"  If  Nature  thunder'd  in  In  1  openinj 
And  Btunn'd  him  wiih  the  mu  lii  "l  the  spher 
How  would  he  wish  thai  Heav<  n  had  left  him  '.1111 
I  he  win  pering  zephyi  and  the  purling  nil !  " 

—  Pope,  l    ay  .>«  Man,  I. 


192  JOHN  MIL  TON. 

"  Her  voice,  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
So  loud,  it  deafens  mortals'  cars, 
As  wise  philosophers  have  thought, 
And  that's  the  cause  we  hear  it  not." 

—  Butler's  Hudibras,  II,  i,  617. 

See,  also,  Montaigne,  Essays,  I,  xxii  ;  Sir  Thomas  Browne's  Religio 
Medici,  II,  9;  Plato's  Republic,  VI;  Dryden's  "  Ode  to  Mrs.  Anne  Killi- 
grew,"  etc. 

35.  consort.  Accompaniment.  This  word,  so  written  until  Milton's 
time,  has  now  given  place  to  concert,  whenever  used  as  here. 

36.  age  of  Gold.     The  fabled  primeval  age  of  universal  happiness. 

"  A  blisful  lyfe,  a  peseable,  and  so  swete, 
Ledde  the  p'eplis  in  the  former  age."  —  Chaucer. 

37.  mould.  Matter,  sul istance.  The  word  is  used  in  the  old  Romances 
to  denote  the  earth  itself.      Milton  elsewhere  says: 

"Can  any  mortal  mixture  of  earth's  mould 
Breathe  such  divine,  enchanting  ravishment  ?" 

38.  her.  Observe  what  has  already  been  said  (note  28,  above)  about 
the  pronoun  its.  Hell,  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  language,  is  feminine.  But, 
just  above,  observe  the  expression  it  self.  See,  in  the  last  line  of  stanza 
xv,  the  pronoun  her  with  heaven  as  its  antecedent.  Heofon,  in  the  Anglo- 
Saxon,  is  also  feminine. 

39.  This  stanza  is  a  fine  example  of  word-painting.  What  idea  is 
conveyed  to  your  mind  by  the  expressions,  "  orb'd  in  a  rainbow,"  "  like 
glories  wearing,"  "thron'd  in  cclestiall  sheen,"  "the  tissued  clouds  down 
stearing,"  etc.?  What  kind  of  glories  will  Mercy  wear?  Where  will  she 
sit?  How  will  she  be  enthroned?  What  are  radiant  feet?  Why  are 
Mercy's  feet  radiant?  Does  she  steer  the  tissued  clouds  "with  radiant 
feet,"  or  does  she  steer  herself  down  the  tissued  clouds?  Why  will  the 
opening  of  Heaven's  high  palace  wall  be  "  as  at  some  festivall  "? 

40.  bitter  cross.     Compare  Shakespeare,  "  1  I  Ienry  IV,"  Act  i,  sc.  I,  27  : 

"  Those  blessed  feel 
Which  fourteen  hundred  y  ars  ago  were  nail'd 
For  our  advantage,  on  the  bitter  cross." 

41.  ychain'd.  The  y  is  a  corruption  of  the  prefix  ge,  anciently  used 
in  connection  with  the  past  participle,  and  still  retained  in  many  German 
words.  <  >ftcn  used  by  Chaucer  and  Spenser,  as  in  yblessed,  yburied, 
ybrent,  yfonden,  ygeten,  yclad,  yfraught,  etc. 

42.  trump.  "  For  the  Lord  himself  shall  descend  from  heaven  with 
.1  shout,  with  the  voice  of  the  archangel,  and  with  the  trump  of  God:  and 
the  dead  in  Christ  shall  rise  first."  —  /  Thessalonians  iv.  16. 


ON    THE   MORNING    OF  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY.        193 

wakefull.      Awakening. 

43.  rang.     See  Exodus  \ix. 

44.  session.  Assize.  Both  words  were  originally  from  the  same  root, 
Lat.  sedeo,  sessum. 

spread.  Prepare,  make  ready.  A  similar  use  of  the  word  survives  in 
the  idiom  "  to  spread  the  table." 

45.  Dragon.     See  Revelation  xii.  9. 

46.  Swindges.  Swings  about  violently.  This  is  the  only  ease  in  which 
Milton  uses  this  word.  It  is  used  several  times  by  Shakespeare  in  the 
sense  of  to  :o/n'p,  to  scou 

47.  oracles  are  dumm.  Keightly  says:  "  This  was  a  frequent  asser- 
tion of  the  Fathers,  who  aseribed  to  the  coming  of  Christ  what  was  the 
effect  of  time.  They  regarded  the  ancient  oracles  as  having  been  the  in- 
spiration of  the  devil.'' 

Spenser,  quoting  the  story  which  Plutarch  relates  in  "his  Booke  of  the 
ceasing  of  miracles,"  says,  "lor  at  that  time,  as  hee  sayth,  all  Oracles 
surceased,  and  em  haunted  spirites  that  were  WOOnt  to  delude  the  people 
them  eforth  held  their  peace."-  -  Glosse  to  Shepheards  Calendar,  May. 

48.  Delphos.  The  mediaeval  form  of  the  word  Delphi.  The  temple 
where  was  the  chief  oracle  of  Apollo  was  at  Delphi,  built  at  the  foot  of  a 
precipitous   cliff  two   thousand    feet   high.     This   oracle  was  suppressed  by 

the  Emperor  Theodosius. 

49.  weeping.     Compare  Matthew  ii.  19,  and  Jeremiah  xxxi.  15. 
Spenser,  in  the  same   Glosse,  quoted  from  above,  says,  "About  tin    same 

time  that  our  I.orde  suffered  his  mosl   bitter  passion  for  the    redemption   ol 
man.  ons  sailing  from  [talii   to  Cyprus  and  passing  by  certaine 

ilea  called    Paxse,  heard  a  voice   calling  aloud  Thamus,  Thamus,   (now 
Thamus  was  the  nam'-  ol  an  Egyptian  which  ua>  pylote  ol  the  ship),  who, 
giving  ear  to  the  crie,  was  bidden,  when  he  came  to  Palodes  to  tell  that 
■   Pan  was  dead:   which  lee  doubting  to  doe,  yet   foi    thai  when   lee 

.  aine  |o   Palodes,  there  suddenly  was  su    Ii  a  I  .due     ol    winde   that    tin'   ship 

st le  still  in  the  sea  unmooved,  he  was  forced  to  crie  aloude  that   ban 

lead  :  wherewithal!  tie  re  was  heard  su  h  piteous  outcries,  and  di 
full  ghriking  .1^  hath  not  I the  like." 

50.  parting.     Departing.     Frequently  used  in  Old  English. 
Genius.     Spirit.     S      "1  .1 

"  Henci  forth  thou  arl  tie  G  ire." 

51.  consecrated  earth       holy  hearth.      I  <  fi  rring  to  tie    pis 

<  ially  haunted  by  the  l  ai  1  and  I  ■  mures,    The  1  ■  mur<  -  ■■•••  n  the  spii 
the  dead,  and  were  said  to  wander  about  at   night,  frightening  tie    1 

The    I  ■  re  the  household  gods,  sonn  Inn    J   r<  I'  1  r  ■  •  I    to   .i  -   tin-   spirits 


194  JOHN   Mil  rOX. 

of   good   men.     The   former    frequented    the   graveyards;    the  latter,  the 
hearths. 

52.  Flamins.     Priests. 

53.  forgoes.     Goes  from,  gives  up, "abandons. 

54.  Peor  and  Baalim.  Compare  the  proper  names  which  occur  in 
this  and  the  following  stanzas  with  those  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  I,  316-352. 

Peor.  The  name  of  a  mountain  of  Palestine  is  here  used  as  one  of  the 
titles  of  Baal,  who  was  worshipped  there. 

Baalim.  Plural  of  Baal,  meaning  that  god  in  his  various  modifica- 
tions. 

Ashtaroth.  The  Syrian  goddess  Astarte.  But  her  worship  was  identi- 
fied rather  with  the  planet  Venus  than  with  the  moon. 

Hammon.  A  Libyan  deity,  represented  as  a  ram  or  as  a  man  with 
ram's  horns. 

55.  twise  batter'd  god.     Dagon.     See  1  Samuel  v. 

56.  mourn.  In  Phoenicia,  in  the  ancient  city  of  Byblos,  a  festival  of 
two  days  was  held  every  year  in  honor  of  Adonis,  or  Thammuz,  as  the 
Phoenicians  called  him.  The  first  day  was  observed  as  a  clay  of  mourning 
for  the  death  of  the  god;  the  second,  as  a  day  of  rejoicing  because  of  his 
return  to  the  earth.  The  principal  participants  were  young  women.  The 
prophet  Ezekiel  alludes  to  this  subject :  "Then  he  brought  me  to  the  door 
of  the  gate  of  the  Lord's  house  which  was  toward  the  north;  and,  behold, 
there  sat  women  weeping  for  Tammuz."  —  Ezekiel '  viii.  14. 

Milton,  in  "Paradise  Lost,"  says: 

"  Thammuz  came  next  behind, 
Whose  annual  wound  in  Lebanon  allur'd 
The  Syrian  damsels  to  lament  his  fate 
In  amorous  ditties  all  a  summer's  day." 

57.  Compare  with  "  Paradise  Lost,"  I,  392-405.  In  Sa/ufys's  Travels, 
published   in    1615,  and   a   popular   book  in    Milton's  time,  the  following 

ription  is  given  of  the  sacrifices  made  to  Moloch:  "  Therein  the  lie- 
brews  sacrificed  their  children  to  Moloch,  an  idol  of  brass,  having  the  head 
of  a  calf,  the  rest  of  a  kingly  figure,  with  arms  extended  to  receive  the 
miserable  sacrifice  seared  to  death  with  his  burning  embracements.  Lor 
the  idol  was  hollow  within  and  filled  with  fire." 

58.  grisly.  Frightful,  hideous.  Probably  from  A.-S.  agrisan,  to 
dread. 

59.  brutish.     Shaped  like  a  brute;   animal. 

Isis.  The  Egyptian  earth-goddess,  afterwards  worshipped  as  the  god- 
dess of  the  moon. 

Orus.     The  Egyptian  god  of  the  sun. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE.  195 

the  dog  Anubis.      Juvenal  says,  "Whole  towns  worship  the  dog."  — 
Sat.,  XV,  8. 

60.  unshowr'd.      A  reference  to  the  general,  though  erroneous,  idea 
that  it  does  not  rain  in  Egypt. 

Osiris,  or  Apis,  one  of  the  chief  gods  of  the  Egyptians,  was  represented 
by  a  bull. 

sacred  chest  =  worshipt  ark,  below. 

61.  eyn.     The  old   plural  form  of  eyes.     This  form  of  the  plural  sur- 
vives in  oxen,  children,  brethren,  kine,  swine. 

Typhon.     A  monster  among  the  gods,  variously  described  by  the  poets. 
He  was  a  terror  to  all  the  other  deities. 

62.  in  bed.       The  sun  has  not  yet  risen. 

63.  youngest  teemed.     Referring  to  the  Star  of  Bethlehem. 

64.  Compare  Milton's  "Sonnet  on  his  Blindness": 

"  They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 


■:«:•  • 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

John  Milton  was  born  in  Bread  Street.  Cheapside,  London,  in 
tin-  year  [608,  eight  years  before  the  death  of  Shakespeare.     From 
his  boyhood  be  showed  the  possession  <>(  more  than  ordinary  pow- 
ers <>f  mind,     lb-  was  educated  first  under  private  tutors,  ami  at 
St .  Paul's  Si  hool,  ami  finally  at  ( Ihrist's  <  'ollege,  ( iambi  idge,  \\  here 
in  1632  he  received  the  degree  of  "Master  of  Arts."     Mis  first  con- 
siderable work  was  the  "Hymn  on  the  Morning  of  the   Nativity," 
written  in  1629.     Within  the  next  seven  years  he  wrote  the  must 
vorthy  <>\    his  shorter   poems:    the    masque,    "Comus";    tin: 
oral  piece  entitled  "  Arcades  " ;  the  beautiful  descriptive  poems, 
"L'Allegro"  and  "11  Penseroso";   and  the  elegy,  " Lycidas."     In 
1639  he  made  a  toui  upon  the  Continent,  visited  the  famous  seats  of 
learning  in  France  and  Italy,  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  man) 
of  the  great  poets  and  scholars  "i  his  time.     Upon  beating,  how- 
il  war  was  aboul  to  break  out  iu  England,  h<    ha  t<  ned 
home,  resolved  to  devote  him  elf  to  what  he  regarded  as  his  coun 
best  interests,     b  1  ti     was  abandoned  for  politii    .  and  foi  the 
twentj  ■:.  rote  little  except  prose  —  political  tracts  and 

controversial  1      i)        When  <  1. unwell  became  Lord  Protectoi   ol 
England,  Milton  was  appointed  Latin  S<  1  retarj  ol  State,  a  position 


196  JOHN  MILTON. 

which  he  continued  to  hold  until  towards  tlic  downfall  of  the  Com- 
monwealth. But  after  the  Restoration  he  quietly  withdrew  into 
retirement,  resolved  to  devote  the  remainder  of  his  life  to  the  writ- 
ing of  the  great  poem  which  he  had  been  contemplating  for 
many  years.  Through  unceasing  study  he  had  lost  his  sight;  the 
friends  of  his  youth  had  deserted  him;  the  fortune  which  he  had 
received  from  his  father  was  gone.  And  so  it  was  in  darkness,  and 
disappointment,  and  poverty,  that  in  1667  he  gave  to  the  world  the 
greal  English  epic.  -Paradise  Lost."  It  was  in  that  same  year  that 
Dryden  published  his  ".Annus  Mirabilis."  Milton  shortly  afterward 
wrote  "Paradise  Regained";  and.  in  1671,  he  produced  "Samson 
Agonistes,"  a  tragedy  modelled  after  the  masterpieces  of  the  Greek 
drama.  On  the  8th  of  November,  1674,  at  the  age  of  sixty-six 
years,  his  strangely  eventful  life  came  to  a  close. 

WORDSWORTH'S   SONNET   TO    MILTON. 

Milton!  thou  shouldst  he  living  at  this  hour: 

England  hath  need  of  thee  ;  she  is  a  fen 

<  if  stagnant  waters  ;  altar,  sword,  and  pen, 

Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower. 

Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 

Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfish  men; 

Oh!  raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again  ; 

And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power. 

Thy  soul  was  like  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart ; 

Thou  hadst  a  voice  whose  sound  was  like  the  sea; 

Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free, 

So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way, 

In  cheerful  godliness;  and  yet  thy  heart 

The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay. 

Other  Poems  to  be  Read  :  L' Allegro;  II  Penseroso;  Comus;  Lycidas; 
ticras  from  Paradise  Lost. 

REFERENCES:    Massun's    Life    and    Times    of  Joint    Milton;    Milton 
sical   Writers),  by  Stopford   Brooke;    Milton  (English  Men  of  Let- 
ters),  by    Mark    Pattison;     Macaulay's    Lssay   on    Milton;    De  Quincey, 
Milton  vs.  Southey  and  Landor ;  Coleridge's  Literary  Remains;    John- 
son's Lives  of  the  Poets  ;  Hazlitt's  English  Poets. 


•Robert  Ibcrricfe. 


oj*=:<x- 


TO    PHILLIS. 

Live,  live  with  me,  and  thou  shalt  see 
The  pleasures  I'll  prepare  for  thee  : 
What  sweets  the  country  can  afford 
Shall  bless  thy  bed,  and  bless  thy  board. 
The  soft  sweet  moss  shall  be  thy  bed, 
With  crawling  woodbine  over-spread: 
By  which  the  silver-shedding  streams 
Shall  gently  melt  thee  into  dreams. 
Thy  clothing  next,  shall  be  a  gown 
Made  of  the  fleeces'  purest  down. 
The  tongue  of  kids  shall  be  thy  meat ; 
Their  milk  thy  drink  ;   and  thou  shalt  eat 
Tlic  paste  "I  filberts  for  thy  bread 
With  «  ream  of  cowslips  buttered  : 
Thy  feasting  table  shall  be  hills 
With  daisies  spread,  and  daffadils  ; 
Where  thou  shalt  sit,  and  Red  breast  by, 
For  meat,  shall  give  thee  melody. 
I'll  give  thee  chains  and  carcanets 
( )f  primroses  and  violets. 
A  bag  and  bottle  thou  shalt  have, 
Thai  ri<  hly  wrought,  and  this  as  brave  ; 
So  thai  as  cither  shall  express 
'I  he  wearei  's  no  mean  shepherdess. 

197 


198  ROBERT  II  ERR  I CK. 

At  shearing-times,  and  yearly  wakes, 

When  Themilis  his  pastime  makes, 

There  thou  shalt  be  ;  and  be  the  wit, 

Nay  more,  the  (east,  and  grace  of  it. 

On  holydays,  when  virgins  meet 

To  dance  the  heys  with  nimble  feet, 

Thou  shalt  come  forth,  and  then  appear 

The  Queen  of  Roses  for  that  year. 

And  having  danced  ('bove  all  the  best) 

Carry  the  garland  from  the  rest, 

In  wicker-baskets  maids  shall  bring 

To  thee,  my  dearest  shepherdling, 

The  blushing  apple,  bashful  pear, 

And  shame-faced  plum,  all  simp'ring  there. 

Walk  in  the  groves,  and  thou  shalt  find 

The  name  of  Phillis  in  the  rind 

Of  every  straight  and  smooth-skin  tree ; 

Where  kissing  that,  I'll  twice  kiss  thee. 

To  thee  a  sheep-hook  I  will  send, 

Be-prank'd  with  ribbons,  to  this  end, 

This,  this  alluring  hook  might  be 

Less  for  to  catch  a  sheep,  than  me. 

Thou  shalt  have  possets,  wassails  fine, 

Not  made  of  ale,  but  spiced  wine  ; 

To  make  thy  maids  and  self  free  mirth, 

All  sitting  near  the  glitt'ring  hearth. 

Thou  shalt  have  ribbands,  roses,  rings, 

Gloves,  garters,  stockings,  shoes,  and  strings 

Of  winning  colors  that  shall  move 

Others  to  lust,  but  me  to  love. 

-These,  nay,  and  more,  thine  own  shall  be, 
If  thou  wilt  love,  and  live  with  me. 


THE   MAD   MAID'S   SONG.  199 


THE    MAD    MAID'S    SONG. 

Good  morrow  to  the  day  so  fair ; 

Good  morning,  sir,  to  you  ; 
Good  morrow  to  mine  own  torn  hair, 

Bedabbled  with  the  dew. 

Good  morning  to  this  primrose  too  ; 

Good  morrow  to  each  maid  ; 
That  will  with  flowers  the  tomb  bestrew 

Wherein  my  Love  is  laid. 

Ah  !  woe  is  me,  woe,  woe  is  me, 

Alack  and  well-a-day  ! 
For  pity,  sir,  find  out  that  bee, 

Which  bore  my  Love  away. 

I'll  seek  him  in  your  bonnet  brave; 

I'll  seek  him  in  your  eyes  ; 
Nay,  now   I  think  they've  made  his  grave 

I'  th'  bed  oi  strawberries. 

I'll  seek  him  there  ;    I  know,  ere  this, 
The  eold,  cold  earth  doth  shake  him; 

But  I  will  go,  or  send  a  kiss 
By  VOU,  sir,  to  ;iw;d<<-  him. 

I'm-,  inn t  him  not  ;  though  he  be  dead, 

1  [e  knOWS  well  who  do  love  hiin  ; 

And  who  with  green  tints  rear  his  head, 
And  who  do  i  udely  move  him. 


200  ROBERT  HERRICK. 

He's  soft  and  tender,  pray  take  heed, 
With  bands  of  cowslips  bind  him, 

And  bring  him  home  ;  —  but  'tis  decreed 
That  I  shall  never  find  him. 


.,.  ,;^  ;. ... 


A  THANKSGIVING   TO    GOD. 

Lord,  thou  hast  given  me  a  cell, 

Wherein  to  dwell ; 
A  little  house,  whose  humble  roof 

Is  weather  proof ; 
Under  the  spars  of  which  I  lie 

Both  soft  and  dry  ; 
Where  thou,  my  chamber  for  to  ward, 

Hast  set  a  guard 
Of  harmless  thoughts,  to  watch  and  keep 

Me,  while  I  sleep. 
Low  is  my  porch,  as  is  my  fate  ; 

Both  void  of  state  ; 
And  yet  the  threshold  of  my  door 

Is  worn  by  th'  poor, 
Who  thither  come,  and  freely  get 

Good  words,  or  meat. 
Like  as  my  parlor,  so  my  hall 

And  kitchen's  small ; 
A  little  buttery,  and  therein 

A  little  bin, 
Which  keeps  my  little  loaf  of  bread 

Unchipt,  unflead  ; 
Some  brittle  sticks  of  thorn  or  briar 

Make  me  a  fire, 


A    THANKSGIVING    TO    GOD.  201 

Close  by  whose  living  coal  I  sit, 

And  glow  like  it. 
Lord,  I  confess  too,  when  I  dine, 

The  pulse  is  thine, 
And  all  those  other  bits  that  be 

There  placed  by  thee ; 
The  worts,  the  purslain,  and  the  mess 

Of  water-cress, 
Which  of  thy  kindness  thou  hast  sent, 

And  my  content 
Makes  those,  and  my  beloved  beet, 

To  be  more  sweet. 
'Tis  thou  that  crown'st  my  glittering  hearth 

With  guiltless  mirth, 
And  giv'st  me  wassail  bowls  to  drink, 

Spiced  tn  the  brink. 
Lord,  'tis  thy  plenty-dropping  hand 

That  soils  my  land, 
And  giv'st  me,  for  my  bushel  sown, 

Twice  ten  for  one  ; 
Thou  mak'sl  my  teeming  hen  to  lay 

I  In-  egg  each  day  ; 
Besides,  my  healthful  ewes  to  bear 

Me  twins  each  year ; 
The  while  the  conduits  of  my  kine 

Run  cream,  for  wine  : 
All  these,  and  better,  thou  dost  send 

Me,  to  this  end,  — 

That  I  should  render,  foi  my  part, 

A  t li.iukl ul  hearl  ; 
Which,  fired  with  incense,  I  resign, 

As  wholly  thine  ; 

Bui  the  a« «  eptani  e,  thai  must  be, 
My  Christ,  by   Thee. 


202  ROBERT  HER  RICK, 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

Robert  Herrick  was  horn  in  Cheapside,  London,  August 
20,  1591-  He  was  educated  at  Cambridge,  and  in  1629,  having 
taken  orders,  was  presented  to  the  vicarage  of  Dean  Prior  in 
Devonshire.  From  this  living  he  was  ejected  by  the  Long  Parlia- 
ment in  1648,  and,  going  up  to  London,  he  united  himself  with  some 
of  his  former  associates  and  entered  upon  a  career  not  altogether 
creditable  to  his  profession  of  parson.  At  the  restoration  of  Charles 
II.  he  was  returned  to  his  vicarage,  where  he  remained  until  his 
death  in  1674.  His  best  poems  are  included  in  the  collection 
entitled  "Hesperides,  or  Works  Humane  and  Divine,"'  published  in 
1648,  and  dedicated  to  "the  most  illustrious  and  most  hopeful 
Prince  Charles."  The  "  Argument  "  prefixed  to  this  collection  very 
prettily  describes  the  character  of  the  pieces  which  it  contains  : 

"  I  sing  of  brooks,  of  blossoms,  birds,  and  bowers, 
Of  April,  May,  of  June,  and  July-flowers; 
I  sing  of  May-poles,  hock-carts,  wassails,  wakes, 
Of  bride-grooms,  brides,  and  of  their  bridal-cakes. 
I  write  of  Youth,  of  Love;  —  and  have  access 
By  these,  to  sing  of  cleanly  wantonness; 
I  sing  of  dews,  of  rains,  and,  piece  by  piece, 
Of  balm,  of  oil,  of  spice,  of  ambergris. 
I  sing  of  times  trans-shifting;  and  I  write 
How  roses  first  came  red,  and  lilies  white. 
I  write  of  groves,  of  twilights,  and  I  sing 
The  court  of  Mab,  and  of  the  Fairy  King; 
I  write  of  Hell ;    I  sing,  and  ever  shall 
Of  Heaven,  —  and  hope  to  have  it  after  all." 

"  Herrick's  best  things,"  says  Robert  Buchanan,  "are  his  poems 
in  praise  of  the  country  life,  and  his  worst  things  are  his  epigrams. 
His  gladsome,  mercurial  temper  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  the 
composition  of  his  best  lyrics;  for  the  parson  of  Dean  Prior  was  no 
philosopher,  and  his  lightest,  airiest  verses  are  the  best.  His  was  a 
happy,  careless  nature,  throwing  off  verses  out  of  the  fulness  of  a 
joyous  heart,  rioting  in  a  pleasant,  sunny  element." 


j£&munb  Mailer. 


oi*<° 


SONG. 

Go,  lovely  Rose, 

Tell  her  that  wastes  her  time  and  me, 

That  now  she  knows 

When  I  resemble  her  to  thee 

1  low  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be. 

Tell  her  that's  young, 

And  shuns  to  have  her  graces  spied, 

That  had'st  thou  sprung 

In  deserts  where  no  men  abide, 

Thou  must  have  uncommended  died. 

Small  is  the  worth 

Of  beauty  from  the  light  retired; 

Bid  her  come  forth, 

Suffer  herself  to  be  desired, 

And  not  blush  so  to  be  admired. 

Then  die,  thai  she 

The  common  fate  of  all  things  rare 

May  read  in  thee, 

I  low  small  a  pari  "I  time  they  share 

Who  are  so  wondrous  sweet  and  fair, 

203 


204  EDMUXD    WALLER. 


OF    ENGLISH    VERSE. 

Poets  may  boast,  as  safely  vain, 
Their  works  shall  with  the  world  remain 
Both  hound  together,  live  or  die, 
The  verses  and  the  prophecy. 

But  who  can  hope  his  line  should  long 
Last,  in  a  daily-changing  tongue  ? 
While  they  are  new,  envy  prevails ; 
And  as  that  dies  our  language  fails. 

When  architects  have  done  their  part, 
The  matter  may  betray  their  art  : 
Time,  if  we  use  ill-chosen  stone, 
Soon  brings  a  well-built  palace  down. 

Poets,  that  lasting  marble  seek, 
Must  carve  in  Latin  or  in  Greek: 
We  write  in  sand,  our  language  grows, 
And,  like  the  tide,  our  work  o'erflows. 

Chaucer  his  sense  can  only  boast, 
The  glory  of  his  numbers  lost ! 
Years  have  defac't  his  matchless  strain, 
And  yet  he  did  not  sing  in  vain. 

The  beauties  which  adorn'd  that  age, 
The  shining  subjects  of  his  rage, 
Hoping  they  should  immortal  prove, 
Rewarded  with  success  his  love. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE.  205 

This  was  the  gen'rous  poet's  scope, 
And  all  an  English  pen  can  hope; 
To  make  the  fair  approve  his  flame, 
That  can  so  far  extend  their  fame. 

Verse  thus  design'd  has  no  ill  fate, 
If  it  arrive  but  at  the  date 
Of  fading  beauty,  if  it  prove 
But  as  long-liv'd  as  present  love. 


•  ■:  ^  ;•  • 


ON    A    GIRDLE. 

Thai  which  her  slender  waist  confin'd 
Shall  now  my  joyful  temples  bind; 
No  monarch  but  would  give  his  crown 
His  arms  mi^ht  do  what  this  has  done 

It  was  my  heaven's  extremest  sphere, 
The  pale  which  held  that  lovely  deer: 
My  joy,  my  grief,  my  hope,  my  love, 
I  )id  .ill  within  this  circle  move  ! 

A   narrow  compass!   and  yet  there 
I  )well   all  that's  -ood  and  all  that's  laii 
Give  me  but  what  this  riband  bound, 
'lake  all  the  rest  the  sun  goes  round. 

•  •:  *  :•  • 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

i  dmund  Waller,  whose  poetr)  i,  noticeable  because  he  was 
the  first  English  r  to  adopt  the  French  fashion  of  writing  in 

couplets,  \\.i-  born  in  Warwickshire  in   1605.     He  was  elected  to 
Parliament  at  th<  ag<  "I  seventeen,  and  wasa  membei  "i  thai  body 


206  EDMUND    WALLER. 

during  the  greater  part  of  his  life.  At  the  beginning  of  the  diffi- 
culties betu ee  n  the  king  and  the  Parliament,  he  gained  some  noto- 
riety by  his  opposition  to  the  former,  but  when  the  Civil  War  broke 
out  he  attached  himself  to  the  Royalist  cause.  In  1643,  being 
convicted  of  complicity  in  a  plot  against  Parliament,  he  was  fined 
/,  10.000  and  imprisoned  for  twelve  months.  After  his  release  he 
went  to  France;  but  in  1653  he  returned  to  England  and  became 
reconciled  to  the  new  government,  writing,  soon  afterward,  "A 
Panegyric  to  my  Lord  Protector,  of  the  present  ( Greatness  and  joint 
Interest  of  his  Highness  and  this  Nation."  At  the  Restoration  he 
eagerly  declared  allegiance  to  Charles  II.,  and  wrote  a  congratu- 
latory ode  on  that  monarch's  return.  He  became  a  court  favorite, 
noted  for  his  wit,  was  made  provost  of  Eton,  and  returned  to  his 
old  place  in  Parliament.  He  died  October  21,  1687.  The  first 
edition  of  his  poems  was  published  in  1645,  and  from  that  time  to 
the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century  he  was  quite  generally  regarded 
as  the  greatest  of  English  poets.  At  the  present  time  there  are  few 
writers  so  little  considered  as  he. 

Waller  may  be  regarded  as  the  founder  of  the  classical  school  of 
English  poetry,  in  which  Dryden  and  Pope  excelled,  and  which 
remained  in  the  ascendency  for  more  than  a  century  after  his  death. 
"The  excellence  and  dignity  of  rhyme,"  says  Dryden,  "were  never 
fully  known  till  Air.  Waller  taught  it;  he  first  made  writing  easily 
an  art,  first  showed  us  to  conclude  the  sense,  most  commonly,  in 
distichs,  which  in  the  verse  of  those  before  him  runs  on  for  so  many 
lines  together,  that  the  reader  is  out  of  breath  to  overtake  it." 

And  Dr.  Johnson  says:  "He  certainly  very  much  excelled  in 
smoothness  most  of  the  writers  who  were  living  when  his  poetry 
commenced.  Put  he  was  rather  smooth  than  strong:  of  the 'full 
resounding  line'  which  Pope  attributes  to  Dryden,  he  has  given 
very  few  examples.  The  general  character  of  his  poetry  is  elegance 
and  gaiety.  He  seems  neither  to  have  had  a  mind  much  elevated 
by  nature,  nor  amplified  by  learning.  His  thoughts  are  such  as  a 
liberal  conversation  and  large  acquaintance  with  life  would  easily 
supply." 


Ben  3onson, 


-»o»<o<>- 


AN    ODE    TO    HIMSELF. 

Where  dost  Thou  careless  lie 

Buried  in  ease  and  sloth  ? 
Knowledge  that  sleeps,  doth  die; 
And  this  security, 

It  is  the  common  moth 
That  eats  on  wits  and  arts,  and  [so]  destroys  them  both. 

Are  all  the  Aonian  '  springs 

Dried  up?   lies  Thespia  waste? 
Doth  Clarius' 2  harp  want  strings, 
That  not  a  nymph  now  sings; 

( )r  (lump  they  as  disgrae'd, 
To  see  their  seats  and  bowers  by  chattering  pies8de- 
fae'd  ? 

It  hence  '  thy  silence  be, 

As  'tis  too  just  ,i  cause, 
Let  this  thought  quicken  thee: 
Minds  that  ai e  gi eal  and  I ree 

Should  n<>t  nn  fortune  pause  ; 
'Tis  crown  enough  to  virtue6  still,  her  own  applause. 

Whal  though  the  greedy  I 
Be  taken  w  ith  false  bail  ■ 

207 


208  BEN  JONSON. 

Of  worded  balladry, 
And  think  it  poesy  ? 

They  die  with  their  conceits, 
And  only  piteous  scorn  upon  their  folly  waits. 

Then  take  in  hand  thy  lyre ; 

Strike  in  thy  proper  strain  ; 
With  Japhet's  line,6  aspire 
Sol's  chariot  for  new  fire, 

To  give  the  world  again  : 
Who  aided  him,  will  thee,  the  issue  of  Jove's  brain.7 

And,  since  our  dainty  age 

Cannot  endure  reproof, 
Make  not  thyself  a  page 
To  that  strumpet  the  stage  ; 

But  sing  high  and  aloof, 
Safe  from  the  wolf's  black  jaw,  and  the  dull  ass's  hoof.8 


NOTES. 


This  poem  is  round  in  the  collection  of  miscellaneous  pieces,  by  Ben 
Jonson,  entitled  "  Underwoods."  The  poet  reproaches  himself  for  his 
own  indolence. 

i.  Aonian  springs.  The  fountain  Aganippe,  situated  in  Aonia,  was 
much  frequented  by  the  Muses,  who  were  therefore  sometimes  called 
"  A'Jtiides."  They  were  also  called  Thespiades,  because  Mount  Helicon, 
one  of  their  favored  resorts,  was  in  the  vicinity  of  Thespia,  anil  was  itself 
named  "  Thespia  rupes." 

2.  Clarius.  The  name  applied  to  the  celebrated  oracle  of  Apollo  at 
Clarus,  on  the  Ionian  coast. 

3.  pies.     Magpies,  "  who  make  sound  without  sense." 

4.  hence.     For  this  reason. 


TO    CYNTHIA.  209 

5.  virtue  .  .  .  her  own  applause.     Compare: 

"  Virtue  is  her  oun  reward."  —  D/yden,  Tyrannic  Love. 
"  Virtue,  a  reward  to  itself."  —  I  ( alton,  Compleat  Angler. 
"  Virtue  is  its  own  reward."  —  Prior,  Imitations  of  Horace. 

6.  Japhet's  line.      The  line  of  Iapetus,  the  father  of  Prometheus,  who 
stole  lire  from  the  chariot  of  the  sun. 

7.  issue  of  Jove's  brain.     Athene,  or  Minerva. 

8.  "  Sale  from  the  slanderer  and  the  fool." 


->:*:< 


TO    CYNTHIA. 

Queen  and  huntress,  chaste  and  fair, 
Now  the  sun  is  laid  to  sleep  ; 

Seated  in  thy  silver  chair, 

State  in  wonted  manner  keep; 

Hesperus  entreats  thy  light, 

Goddess  excellently  bright. 

Earth,  let  not  thy  envious  shade 

Uare  itself  to  interpose  ; 
Cynthia's  shining  orb  was  made 

Heaven  to  clear,  when  day  did  close; 

Bless  us  then  with  wished  si^ht, 
Goddess  excellently  bright. 

I  .ay  thy  bow  ot   pearl  apart, 

And  thy  i  rystal  shining  quiver ; 
Give  unto  the  flying  heai I 
Space  to  breathe,  how  short  soever; 

Thou  that  mak'st  a  day  of  night, 
Goddess  excellently  bright. 


210  BEN  JONSO.X. 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  BELOVED  MASTER 
WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE,  AND  WHAT  HE 
HATH    LEFT    US. 

To  draw  no  envy,  Shakespeare,  on  thy  name, 
Am  I  thus  ample  to  thy  book  and  fame;1 
While  I  confess  thy  writings  to  be  such, 
As  neither  Man  nor  Muse  can  praise  too  much. 
'Tis  true,  and  all  men's  suffrage.      But  these  ways 
Were  not  the  paths  I  meant  unto  thy  praise ; 
For  seeliest2  ignorance  on  these  may  light, 
Which,  when  it  sounds  at  best,  but  echoes  right ; 
Or  blind  affection,  which  doth  ne'er  advance 
The  truth,  but  gropes,  and  urgeth  all  by  chance ; 
Or  crafty  malice  might  pretend  this  praise, 
And  think  to  ruin  where  it  seemed  to  praise. 
But  thou  art  proof  against  them  and,  indeed, 
Above  the  ill  fortune  of  them,  or  the  need. 
I  therefore  will  begin  :  Soul  of  the  age  ! 
The  applause,  delight,  the  wonder  of  our  stage  ! 
My  Shakespeare  rise  !   I  will  not  lodge  thee  by 
Chaucer,  or  Spenser,  or  bid  Beaumont  lie 
A  little  further,  to  make  thee  a  room  :3 
Thou  art  a  monument  without  a  tomb, 
And  art  alive  still  while  thy  book  doth  live, 
And  we  have  wits  to  read,  and  praise  to  give. 
That  I  not  mix  thee  so  my  brain  excuses, — 
I  mean  with  great,  but  disproportioned  Muses; 
For  if  I  thought  my  judgment  were  of  years, 
I  should  commit  thee  surely  with  thy  peers, 
And  tell  how  far  thou  didst  our  Eyly4  outshine, 
Or  sporting  Kyd,  or  Marlowe's  mighty  line. 


TO   SHAKESPEARE.  211 

And  though  thou  hadst  small  Latin  and  less  Greek, 

From  thence  to  honor  thee  I  would  not  seek 

For  names,  but  call  forth  thund'ring  yEschylus,3 

Euripides,  and  Sophocles  to  us, 

Pacuvius,  Accius,6  him  of  Cordova  dead, 

To  life  again,  to  hear  thy  buskin  tread, 

And  shake  a  stage  ;  or  when  thy  socks"  were  on, 

Leave  thee  alone  for  a  comparison 

Of  all  that  insolent  Greece  or  haughty  Rome 

Sent  forth,  or  since  did  from  their  ashes  come. 

Triumph,  my  Britain,  thou  hast  one  to  show, 

To  whom  all  scenes  of  Europe  homage  owe. 

He  was  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time  ! 

And  all  the  Muses  still  were  in  their  prime, 

When,  like  Apollo,  he  came  forth  to  warm 

Our  ears,  or  like  a  Mercury  to  charm  ! 

Nature  herself  was  proud  of  his  designs, 

And  joyed  to  wear  the  dressing  of  his  lines, 

Which  were  so  richly  spun,  and  woven  so  fit, 

As,  since,  she  will  vouchsafe  no  other  wit. 

The  merry  Greek,  tart  Aristophanes, 

Nea1  Terence,  witty  Plautus,8  now  not  please; 

But  antiquated  and  deserted  lie, 

A  j  they  wen-  not  of  Nature's  family. 

Vet  must   I   tlOl  give  Nature  all;   thy  Art, 

My  gentle  Shakespeare,  must  enjoy  a  part. 

I   >r  though  the  poet's  matter  nature  be, 

1  lis  ,irt  doth  give  the  fashion  ;   and  that  In    ' 
Who  casts  to  write  a  living  line,  must  swe.it 

(Such  ;is  thin.-  are)  and  strike  the  second  heal 
1  'pun  the  Muses'  anvil,  turn  the  same, 
And  himseli  with  it,  tint  he  thinks  to  frame ; 
(  M  for  the  laurel  he  may  gain  to  s<  orn  ; 
For  a  good  poet's  made,  as  well  as  born. 


212  BEN  JONSON. 

And  such  wert  thou  !     Look,  how  the  father's  face 

Lives  in  his  issue,  even  SO  the  race 

Of  Shakespeare's  mind  and  manners  brightly  shines 

In  his  well-turned  and  true  filed  lines, 

In  each  of  which  he  seems  to  shake  a  lance, 

As  brandished  at  the  eyes  of  ignorance. 

Sweet  Swan  of  Avon  !  lu  what  a  sight  it  were 

To  see  thee  in  our  waters  yet  appear, 

And  make  those  flights  upon  the  banks  of  Thames, 

That  so  did  take  Eliza  and  our  James ! 

But  stay,  I  see  thee  in  the  hemisphere  u 

Advanced,  and  made  a  constellation  there ! 

Shine  forth,  thou  Star  of  Poets,  and  with  rage 

Or  influence  chide  or  cheer  the  drooping  stage, 

Which,  since  thy  flight  from  hence,  hath  mourned  like 

night, 
And  despairs  day  but  for  thy  volume's  light. 


NOTES. 

This  poem  was  prefixed  to  the  first  folio  edition  of  Shakespeare,  1623, 
and  is  also  printed  in  Ben  Jonson's  "  Underwoods." 

1.  The  meaning  of  these  two  lines  would  seem  to  be:  "To  show  that 
I  am  not  envious,  Shakespeare,  of  thy  name,  I  thus  write  fully  of  thy  works 
and  fame." 

2.  seeliest.  Silliest,  simplest.  From  A.-S.  saelig,  foolish.  See  note 
23,  page  190. 

3.  In  allusion  to  W.  Basse's  elegy  on  Shakespeare,  beginning  : 

"  Renowned  Spenser,  lie  a  thought  more  nigh 
To  learned  Chaucer;  and  rare  Beaumont,  lie 
A  little  nearer  Spenser,  to  make  room 
For  Shakespear  in  your  threefold,  fourfold  tomb." 

4.  Lyly,  Kyd,  Marlowe.  Contemporaries  of  Shakespeare.  See  Bio- 
graphical Dictionary. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE.  213 

5.  JEschylus,  Euripides,  and  Sophocles.    The  founders  of  the  Greek 
tragical  drama. 

6.  Pacuvius,  Accius.     Celebrated  Roman  tragic  poets. 

him  of  Cordova.     Seneca,  the  great  rhetorician,  was  born  at  Cordova, 
in  Spain,  B.C.  61. 

7.  socks  were   on.     The  socks  indicated  comedy,  and  the   buskins 
tragedy.     Compare  Milton's  "  I. 'Allegro,"  131  : 

"Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon, 
If  Jonson's  learned  sock  he  on, 
Or  sweetest  Shakespeare,  Fancy's  child, 
Warble  his  native  wood-note  wild." 

Also,  "  II  Penseroso,"  97.     See  note  on  buskin,  page  139. 

8.  Aristophanes,  Terence,  Plautus.     Ancient  writers  of  comedy. 

9.  that  he.     That  man. 

10.  Swan  of  Avon.     So  Cowper  calls  Virgil  "the  Mantuan  swan." 

11.  hemisphere.     The  celestial  hemisphere. 


•:<-:■ 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

Ben  Jonson  was  born  in  Westminster,  in  1573.  1 1  is  early  lite 
was  full  of  hard  and  varied  experiences.  lie  was  educated  at 
Westminster  School,  and  entered  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge. 
Being  obliged  to  leave  his  university  course  unfinished,  he  worked 
foi  .1  time  with  his  step-father  as  a  brick-layer.  At  the  age  <>i 
eighteen  he  enlisted  as  a  volunteer  in  the  Low  Countries ;  bul  in 
1596  he  settled  in  London,  as  a  playwright.  His  first  comedy, 
"Even  Man  in  1 1  is  Humour,"  did  not  meet  with  immediate  success. 
It  was  remodelled,  at  Shakespeare's  suggestion,  and  when  afterwards 
pn  ented  was  received  with  marked  favor.  His  first  tragedy, 
••  Sejanus."  v.. 1  acted  in  1603.  His  ma  ques,  ol  which  there  are 
thirty-six,  were  written  during  the  reign  ol  James  I.  His  miscel 
laneous  works,  embracing  a  varietj  of  odes,  elegies,  epigrams,  and 
othei  lyrit  -  and  epistles,  are  included  in  two  collections,  the  first  ol 
which,  called  The  "Forest,  was  published  in  1616,  and  the  tecond 
posthumously,  in  1641.     He  died  in  London.  August  6,  1637. 

One  oi  the  last  and  mosl  beautiful  oi  fonson's  dramas  is  the 
unfinished  pastoral  comedy,  "The  Sad  Shepherd.11  It  was  written 
while  in  the  sick-chamber,  with  a  keen    ensi    and  remembrance  oi 


214  BEN  JONSON. 

the  disappointments  which  had  followed  him  through   lite;  and  to 
these  he  touchingly  refers  in  the  prologue: 

"  lie  thai  hath  feasted  you  these  forty  years, 
And  fitted  fables  for  your  finer  ears, 
Although  at  first  he  scarce  could  hit  the  bore; 
Net  you,  with  patience,  hearkening  more  and  more, 
At  length  have  grown  up  to  him,  and  matte  known 
The  working  of  1 1 is  pen  is  now  your  own  : 
He  prays  you  would  vouchsafe,  for  your  own  sake, 
To  hear  him  this  once  more,  but  sit  awake. 
And  though  he  now  present  you  with  such  wool 
As  from  mere  English  flocks  his  muse  can  pull, 
He  hopes  when  it  is  made  up  into  cloth, 
Not  the  most  curious  head  here  will  be  loth 
To  wear  a  hood  of  it,  it  being  a  fleece, 
To  match  or  those  of  Sicily  or  Greece. 
His  scene  is  Sherwood,  and  his  play  a  tale 
Of  Robin  Hood's  inviting  from  the  vale 
Of  Belvoir,  all  the  shepherds  to  a  feast ; 
Where,  by  the  casual  absence  of  one  guest, 
The  mirth  is  troubled  much,  and  in  one  man 
As  much  of  sadness  shown  as  passion  can." 

Robert   lb-nick  wrote  of  him  tints: 

"  Ah  Ben  ! 
Say  how  or  when 
Shall  we,  thy  guests, 
Meet  at  those-  lyric  feasts, 

Made  at  tin'  Sun, 

The  I  >og,  the  Triple  Tun  ; 

Where  we  such  clusters  had, 
As  made  us  nobly  wild,  not  mad  ? 
And  yel  each  verse  of  thine 
Out-did  the  meat,  out-did  the  frolic  wine. 

"  My  Ben! 

Or  come  again, 
Or  send  t<>  us 

Thy  w  it's  great  overplus ; 
Bui  teach  us  yet 

Wisely  to  husband  it, 

best  we  that  talent  spend  ; 
And  having  one,-  broughl  t<>  an  end 
'that  precious  stock,  —  the  store 
Of  such  a  wit  the  world  should  have  no  more." 


Clir  Sixteenth  Century. 


a^O^ 


"  In fifty-two  years,  without  counting  the  drama,  two  hundred 
and  thirty-three  funis  arc  enumerated,  of  whom  forty  have  genius 
or  talent.  .  .  .  What  is  this  condition  which  gives  rise  to  so  uni- 
versal a  taste  i Or  /'  ietry  t  II  'hat  is  it  breathes  life  into  their  books  .' 
I h<:,'  happens  it.  that  amongst  the  least,  in  spite  of  pedantrie,  awk- 
wardnesses, we  meet  with  brilliant  fit  tares  and  genuine  love-cries  : 
How  happens  it.  that  when  this  generation  was  exhausted,  trui 
poetry  ended  in  England,  as  tine  paintingin  Italy  and  Flanders? 
It  was  he,  a  use  an  epoch  of  the  mind  came  and  passed  away,  —  that, 
namely,  of  instinctive  and  creative  conception.  These  men  had  new 
senses,  and  no  theories  in  their  heads.  .  .  .  They  are  happy  in 
contemplating  beautiful  things,  and  wish  only  that  they  should  be 
the  most  beautiful  possible.  They  do  not  excite  themselves  to  express 
moral  or  philosophical  ideas.  They  wish  to  enjoy  through  the  im- 
aginatt  >n,  tht  ough  the  eyes,  like  those  Italian  nobles,  who.  at  the  same 

time,  wet  e  s,<  ,afli rated  hy  line  colors   and  forms,  that  they  covered 

with  paintings  not  only  theit  rooms  and  their  churches,  but  the  lid< 
of  their  chests  and  the  raddles  of  their  horses.  .  .  .  Think  what 
poetry  was   likely  to  spring  from  them,  how  supeiiio   to  common 

events,   how    free    from    literal  imitation.    Iiow    smitten    with    ideal 

beauty,  how  capable  o)  creating  a  world  beyond  out    sad  world."  — 

T  \IM  . 

2IS 


Ports  of  tfje  Si.vtrrntl)  Crnturo. 

Sir  Thomas  Wyatt  (1503-1542).     See  biographical  note,  page  252. 
Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey  (15 17-1547).     See  biographical  note, 

page  252. 
George  Gascoigne  (1536-1577)-     "The  Steel  Glass";   "The  Tragedy  of 

Iocaste." 
Thomas  Sackville,  Lord  Buckhurst  (1536-1608).     "The  Induction  to 

the  Mirror  for  Magistrates";   "The  Tragedy  of  Gorboduc." 
Edmund  Spenser  (1 552-1 59S).     See  biographical  note,  page  245. 
Sir  Philip  Sidney  (1554-15S6).     "Astrophel  and  Stella";   sonnets  and 

short  poems. 
Thomas   Watson    (1557-1592).      "The    Ilecatompathia    or    Passionate 

Century  of  Love  ";    "  Melibceus";    "The  Tears  of  Fancie." 
John  Lyly  (1554-1606).     Lyrical  poems;    "Alexander  and  Campaspe"; 

"  Love's  Metamorphosis." 
Robert  Greene  (1 560-1 592).     Dramas  and  lyrical  poems. 
Christopher  Marlowe  (1 564-1 593).     Dramas  ami  lyrical  poems. 
Thomas  Lodge  (1556-1625).     Dramas  and  lyrical  poems. 
William  Warner  (1550-1609).     "Albion's  England  "j    "  Pan,  his  Syrinx 


or  1  inc. 


William  Shakespeare  (1564-1616).     See  note,  page  221. 

Samuel  Daniel  (  1562-1619).     "History  of  the  Civil  Wars  between  the 

two  Houses  of  York  and  Lancaster." 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  (1552-1618).     Short  poems. 
George  Chapman  (1559-1634).     Translations  of  "Homer's  Iliad"  and 

"  I  [omer's  '  >dyssey. " 
Michael  Drayton  (1 563-1631).     "Polyolbion";   "The  Barons'  Wars"; 

"The  Battle  of  Agincourt." 
Joseph  Hall  (1574-1656).     "  Virgidemiarum";   satires. 
Sir  John  Davies  (         -1626).     "  Nosce  Teipsum." 
John  Donne  (1 573-1631).     Short  poems. 

216 


lUUliam  SbaHcspcarc. 


^x>i*io<^ 


VENUS'S  ADVICE  TO  ADONIS  ON  HUNTING. 

[FROM    "VENUS    AND    ADONIS."] 

"Thou  hadst  been  gone,"  quoth  she,  "sweet  boy,  crc 

this, 
But  that  thou  told'st  me  thou  wouldst  hunt  the  boar. 
O,  be  advised  !  thou  know'st  not  what  it  is 
With  javelin's  point  a  churlish  swine  to  gore, 

Whose  tushes  never  sheathed  he  whetteth  still, 

Like  to  a  mortal  butcher  bent  to  kill. 

"(  in  his  bow-back  he  hath  ;i  battle  set 

<  >l  bristly  pikes,  that  ever  threal  his  foes; 

II:  .  like  glow-worms,  shine  when  he  doth  fret  ; 

His  snout  digs  sepulchres  where'er  he  goes; 
Being  moved,  he  strikes  whate'er  is  in  his  way, 
And  when  he  strikes  his  crooked  tushes  slay. 

"  I  lis  brawny  sides,  with  hairy  bristles  arm'd, 

Are  better  prool  than  thy  spear's  point  can  enter; 

His  short  thick  neck  cannol  he  easily  harm'd; 

Bi  ii.    ireful,  on  the  linn  he  will  venture  : 
The  thorny  brambles  ;\n<\  embracing  bushes, 
As  fearful  oi  him,  part,  through  whom  he  rushes. 

•'7 


21S  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 

"Alas,  he  nought  esteems  that  face  of  thine, 
To  which  Love's  eyes  pay  tributary  gazes; 
Nor  thy  soft  hands,  sweet  lips  and  crystal  eyne, 
Whose  full  perfection  all  the  world  amazes ; 

Hut  having  thee  at  vantage,  —  wondrous  dread  ! 

Would  root  these  beauties  as  he  roots  the  mead. 

"  O,  let  him  keep  his  loathsome  cabin  still ; 

Beauty  hath  nought  to  do  with  such  foul  fiends : 

Come  not  within  his  danger  by  thy  will  ; 

They  that  thrive  well  take  counsel  of  their  friends. 
When  thou  didst  name  the  boar,  not  to  dissemble, 
I  fear'd  thy  fortune,  and  my  joints  did  tremble. 

"  But  if  thou  needs  wilt  hunt,  be  ruled  by  me ; 

Uncouple  at  the  timorous  flying  hare, 

Or  at  the  fox  which  lives  by  subtlety, 

Or  at  the  roe  which  no  encounter  dare  : 

Pursue  these  fearful  creatures  o'er  the  downs, 
And  on  thy  well-breathed  horse  keep  with  thy  hounds. 

"And  when  thou  hast  on  foot  the  purblind  hare, 
Mark  the  poor  wretch,  to  overshoot  his  troubles 
How  he  outruns  the  wind  and  with  what  care 
I  [e  i  i.mks  and  crosses  with  a  thousand  doubles: 

The  many  musets  through  the  which  he  goes 

Are  like  a  labyrinth  to  amaze  his  foes. 

"  Sometime  he  runs  among  a  flock  of  sheep, 
To  make  the  cunning  hounds  mistake  their  smell, 
And  sometime  where  earth-delving  conies  keep, 
To  stop  the  loud  pursuers  in  their  yell, 

And  sometime  sorteth  with  a  herd  of  deer: 
Danger  deviseth  shifts  ;   wit  waits  on  fear: 


A   MORNING   SONG  FOR  IMOGEN.  219 

"  For  there  his  smell  with  others  being  mingled, 
The  hot  scent-snuffing  hounds  are  driven  to  doubt, 
Ceasing  their  clamorous  cry  till  they  have  singled 
With  much  ado  the  cold  fault  cleanly  out ; 

Then  do  they  spend  their  mouths  :   Echo  replies, 

As  if  another  chase  were  in  the  skies. 

"  By  this,  poor  Wat,  far  off  upon  a  hill, 

Stands  on  his  hinder  legs  with  listening  ear, 

To  hearken  if  his  foes  pursue  him  still  : 

Anon  their  loud  alarums  he  doth  hear; 
And  now  his  grief  may  be  compared  well 
To  one  sore  sick  that  hears  the  passing-bell. 

"Then  shah  thou  see  the  dew-bedabbled  wretch 
Turn,  and  return,  indenting  with  the  way  ; 
Ea<  h  envious  brier  his  weary  legs  doth  scratch, 
Each  shadow  makes  him  stop,  each  murmur  stay: 

For  misery  is  trodden  on  by  many, 

And  being  low  never  relieved  by  any." 

OO^OO 


A    MORNING    SONG    FOR    IMOGKN. 

[PROM   "  '  v\im  u\i  ."  ] 

Hark,  hark!  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings 

And    Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at   those  springs 

i  m  chaliced  flowers  that  lies ; 

And  winking   Mary  buds  begin 

I  <•  ope  their  golden  eyes : 
With  everything  thai  pretty  is, 

My  lady  sweet,  arise  : 
Arise,  arise. 


220  WILLIAM   SHAKESPEARE. 

SIGH    NO    MORE,    LADIES. 
[from  "much  ADD  about  nothing."] 

Sigh  no  more,  ladies,  sigh  no  more, 

Men  were  deceivers  ever, 
One  foot  in  sea  and  one  on  shore, 

To  one  thing  constant  never : 
Then  sigh  not  so,  but  let  them  go, 

And  be  you  blithe  and  bonny, 
Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe 

Into  Hey  nonny,  nonny. 

Sing  no  more  ditties,  sing  no  moe, 

Of  dumps  so  dull  and  heavy ; 
The  fraud  of  men  was  ever  so, 

Since  summer  first  was  leafy  : 
Then  sigh  not  so,  but  let  them  go, 

And  be  you  blithe  and  bonny, 
Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe 

Into  Hey  nonny,  nonny. 


-ooJOJc 


SUNSHINE   AND    CLOUD. 

[sonnet  XXXIII.] 

Full  many  a  glorious  morning  have  I  seen 
Flatter  the  mountain-tops  with  sovereign  eye, 

Kissing  with  golden  face  the  meadows  green, 
Gilding  pale  streams  with  heavenly  alchemy ; 

Anon  permit  the  basest  clouds  to  ride 
With  ugly  rack  on  his  celestial  face, 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE.  Ill 

And  from  the  forlorn  world  his  visage  hide, 
Stealing  unseen  to  west  with  this  disgrace  : 

Even  so  my  sun  one  early  morn  did  shine 
With  all-triumphant  splendor  on  my  brow  ; 

But  out,  alack!   he  was  but  one  hour  mine; 

The  region  cloud  hath  mask'd  him  from  me  now. 

Yet  him  for  this  my  love  no  whit  disdaineth  ; 

Suns  of  the  world  may  stain,  when  heaven's  sun  staineth. 


•  '".  ■-  '.■  ■ 


THE    WORLD'S   WAY. 

[SONNET    I. XVI.] 

TlRED  with  all  these,  for  restful  death  I  cry, — 

As,  to  behold  desert  a  beggar  born, 
And  needy  nothing  trimm'd  in  jollity, 

And  purest  faith  unhappily  forsworn, 
And  gilded  honor  shamefully  misplaced, 

And  maiden  virtue  rudely  strumpeted, 
And  right  perfection  wrongfully  disgraced, 

And  strength  by  limping  sway  disabled, 
And  art  made  fcongue-tied  by  authority, 

And  folly,  doctor  like,  controlling  skill, 
And  simple  truth  miscall'd  simplicity, 

And  captive  Good  attending  captain  III  : 
Tired  with  all  these,  from  these  would  I  be  gone, 
Save  that,  to  die,  I  leave  my   Love  alone. 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTK 

William  Sum  i  pi  w<k  was  born  al  Stratford-on  Avon  in 
April,  1564,  and  died  there  April  23,1616.  His  fame  n  1  chiefly 
upon  hi.-,  dramatic  compositions.     I  li  ■  two  narrative  poems, "Venus 


222  WILLIAM   SHAKESPEARE. 

and  Adonis  "  and  "  The  Rape  of  Lucrece,"  were  published  in  1593 
and  1594.  before  any  of  his  plays  had  been  printed.  They  may  be 
regarded  as  companion  pieces,  written  in  the  same  style  and  dis- 
tinguished by  similar  characteristics. 

"A  couple  of  ice-houses,1'  says  Dowden,  "these  two  poems  of 
Shakespeare  have  been  called  by  Ila/.litt;  -they  are,1  he  says, 'as 
hard,  as  glittering,  as  cold.1  Cold  indeed  they  will  seem  to  any- 
one who  listens  to  hear  in  them  the  natural  cry  of  human  passion. 
But  the  paradox  is  true,  that  for  a  young  poet  of  Elizabeth's  age 
to  be  natural,  direct,  simple,  would  have  been  indeed  unnatural. 
He  was  most  happy  when  most  fantastical;  he  spun  a  shining  web 
to  catch  conceits  inevitably  as  a  spider  casts  his  thread;  the  quick- 
building  wit  was  itself  warm  while  erecting  its  ice-houses.11  Cole- 
ridge says  of  the  "  Venus  and  Adonis "  that  its  most  obvious 
excellence  -is  the  perfect  sweetness  of  the  versification;  its  adap- 
tation to  the  subject ;  and  the  power  displayed  in  varying  the  march 
of  the  words  without  passing  into  a  loftier  and  more  majestic  rhythm 
than  was  demanded  by  the  thoughts,  or  permitted  by  the  propriety 
of  preserving  a  sense  of  melody  predominant.11 

Shakespeare's  "  Sonnets  "  were  published  in  1609.  Concerning 
the  origin,  purpose,  and  interpretation  of  these  poems,  many  widely- 
different  theories  have  been  proposed.  "Some  have  looked  on 
them  as  one  poem,11  says  Fleay ;  "some  as  several  poems  —  of 
groups  of  sonnets;  some  as  containing  a  separate  poem  in  each 
sonnet.  They  have  been  supposed  to  be  written  in  Shakespeare's 
own  person,  or  in  the  character  of  another,  or  of  several  others;  to 
be  autobiographical  or  heterobiographical  or  allegorical;  to  have 
been  addressed  to  Lord  Southampton,  to  Sir  William  Herbert,  to 
his  own  wife,  to  Lady  Rich,  to  his  child,  to  himself,  to  his  Muse." 
The  safest  and  wisest  course  seems  to  be,  first  to  regard  each  of  the 
one  hundred  and  fifty-four  sonnets  as  a  poem  complete  in  itself,  and 
after  studying  whatever  it  may  contain  of  art,  or  beauty,  or  truth, 
then  to  discover,  if  possible,  its  relationship  to  those  which  precede 
or  follow  it  in  the  series. 

Of  the  other  poems  written  by  Shakespeare,  mention  should  be 
made  of  "The  Passionate  Pilgrim11  (1559),  "The  Phoenix  and  the 
Turtle'1  (1601),  "A  Lover's  Complaint,1'  published  in  the  same 
volume  with  the  "  Sonnets,"  and  the  few  exquisite  little  songs 
scattered  through  his  plays. 


)6&mun&  Spender. 


-o-ojo^oo- 


THE   CAVE   OF    MAMMON. 

Guyon  findes  Mammon  in  a  delve  * 

Sunning  his  threasure  hore2; 
Is  l>y  him  tempted,  and  led  downe 

To  see  his  secrete  store. 

As  Pilot  well  expert  in  perilous  wave, 
That  to  a  stedfast  starre8  his  course  hath  hent, 
When  foggy  mistes  or  cloudy  tempests  have 
The  faithfull  light  of  that  faire  lampe  yblent,4 
And  cover'd  heaven  with  hideous  dreriment,5 
Upon  his  card  and  compas  firmes6  his  eye, 
The  maysters  of  his  long  experiment, 
And  to  them  does  the  steddy  helme  apply, 

Bidding  his  winged  vessel!  fairely  forward  fly: 

So  Guyon  having  lost  his  trustie  guyde, 
Late  left  beyond  that  Vdle  lake,  proceedes 
Yet  on  his  way,  of  none  accompanyde; 
.And  evermore  himselfe  with  comforl  feedes 
( )i  his  own  vertues  and  praise-worth ie  deedes. 
So,  long  he  yode,7  yel  no  adventure  found, 
Whi<  h  I. one  ol  her  shrill  trumpel  worthy  reedes8; 
l    >r  still  he  traveild  through  wide  wastfull  ground, 
That  nought  but  desert  wildernesse  shewed  all  around 

22j 


224  EDMUND   SPEA'SER. 

At  last  he  came  unto  a  gloomy  glade, 
Cover'd  with  boughes  and  shrubs  from  heavens  light, 
Whereas  he  sitting  found  in  secret  shade 
An  uncouth,  salvage,9  and  uncivile  wight, 
Of  griesly  hew  and  fowle  ill-favour'd  sight; 
His  face  with  smoke  was  tand,  and  eies  were  bleard, 
His  head  and  beard  with  sout  were  ill  bedight,10 
His  cole-blacke  hands  did  seeme  to  have  been  seard 
In  smythes  fire-spitting11  forge,  and  nayles  like  clawes 
appear. 

His  yron  cote,  all  overgrowne  with  rust, 
Was  underneath  enveloped  with  gold  ; 
Whose  glistring  glosse,  darkned  with  filthy  dust, 
Well  yet  appeared  to  have  beene  of  old 
A  worke  of  rich  entayle 12  and  curious  mould, 
Woven  with  antickes  13  and  wyld  ymagery  ; 
And  in  his  lap  a  masse  of  coyne  he  told, 
And  turned  upside  downe,  to  feede  his  eye 
And  covetous  desire  with  his  huge  threasury. 

And  round  about  him  lay  on  every  side 
Great  heapes  of  gold  that  never  could  be  spent; 
Of  which  some  were  rude  owre,  not  purifide 
Of  Mulcibers14  devouring  element; 
Some  others  were  new  driven,  and  distent 
Into  great  Ingowes  and  to  wedges  square; 
Some  in  round  plates  withouten  moniment 15; 
But  most  were  stampt,  and  in  their  metal  bare 
The  antique  shapes  of  kings  and  kesars  straunge  and 
rare. 

Soone  as  he  Guyon  saw,  in  great  affright 
And  haste  he  rose  for  to  remove  aside 
Those  pretious  hils  from  straungers  envious  sight, 


THE    CAVE    OF  MAM  MOW  225 

And  downe  them  poured  through  an  hole  full  wide 

Into  the  hollow  earth,  them  there  to  hide. 

But  Guyon,  lightly  to  him  leaping,  stayd 

His  hand  that  trembled  as  one  terrifyde; 

And  though  himselfe  were  at  the  sight  disraayd, 

Vet  him  perforce  restraynd,  and  to  him  doubtfull  sayd  : 

"  What  art  thou,  man,  (if  man  at  all  thou  art) 
That  here  in  desert  hast  thine  habitaunce, 
And  these  rich  hils  of  welth  doest  hide  apart 
From  the  worldes  eye,  and  from  her  right  usaunce?" 
Thereat,  with  staring  eyes  fixed  askaunce, 
In  great  disdaine  he  answerd  :  "  I  lardy  Elfe, 
That  darest  view  my  direful!  countenaunce, 

I   read  thee  rash  and  heedlcsse  of  thy  selfe, 

To  trouble  my  still  seate,  and  heapes  of  pretious  pelfe. 

"God  ot  the  world  and  worldlings  I  me  call, 
Great  Mammon,  greatest  god  below  the  skye, 
That  of  my  plenty  poure  out  unto  all, 
And  unto  none  my  graces  do  envye: 
Rii  hes,  renowme,  and  principality, 
Honour,  estate,  and  all  this  worldes  good, 
For  which  men  swinck  |,;  and  sweat  incessantly, 
I'  ro  me  do  How  into  an  ample  Rood, 

And  in  the  hollow  earth  have  their  ctcrnall  brood. 

"  Wherefore,  ii  me  thou  deigne  to  serve  and  sew,17 
At  thy  i  01  ii i n  in nd  lo !  all  these  mountaines  bee: 
< )r  it  to  thy  great  mind,  or  greedy  vew, 
All  these  may  not  suffise,  there  shall  to  thee 
Ten  times  so  mm  h  be  nombred  francke  and  free." 
"  M. million,"  (said  he)  "thy  godheads  vaunt  is  vaine, 

Ami  idle  oilers  ol  thy  golden  lee; 


226  EDMUND   SPENSER. 

To  them  that  covet  such  eye-glutting  gaine 
Proffer  thy  giftes,  and  fitter  servaunts  entertaine. 

"  Me  ill  besits,ls  that  in  derdoing,  armes 
And  honours  suit  my  vowd  daies  do  spend, 
Unto  thy  bounteous  baytes  and  pleasing  charmes, 
With  which  weake  men  thou  witchest,  to  attend ; 
Regard  of  worldly  mucke  19  doth  fowly  blend, 
And  low  abase  the  high  heroicke  spright,20 
That  joyes  for  crownes  and  kingdomes  to  contend : 
Faire  shields,  gay  steedes,  bright  armes  be  my  delight ; 
Those  be  the  riches  fit  for  an  advent'rous  knight." 


'&■ 


"  Vaine  glorious   Elfe,"  (saide   he)  "  doest  not  thou 
weet,21 
That  money  can  thy  wantes  at  will  supply  ? 
Sheilds,  steeds,  and  armes,  and  all  things  for  thee  meet, 
It  can  purvay  in  twinckling  of  an  eye  ; 
And  crownes  and  kingdomes  to  thee  multiply. 
Do  not  I  kings  create,  and  throw  the  crowne 
Sometimes  to  him  that  low  in  dust  doth  ly, 
And  him  that  raignd  into  his  rowme  thrust  downe, 
And  whom  I  lust  do  heape  with  glory  and  renowne  ? " 

"All  otherwise"  (saide  he)  "  I  riches  read, 
And  deeme  them  roote  of  all  disquietnesse ; 
First  got  with  guile,  and  then  preserv'd  with  dread, 
And  after  spent  with  pride  and  lavishnesse, 
Leaving  behind  them  griefe  and  heavinesse : 
Infinite  mischiefes  of  them  doe  arize, 
Strife  and  debate,  bloodshed  and  bitternesse, 
Outrageous  wrong,  and  hellish  covetize, 
That  noble  heart  as  great  dishonour  doth  despize. 


THE    CAVE    OF  MAMMON.  Ill 

"  Ne  thine  be  kingdomes,  ne  the  scepters  thine; 
But  realmes  and  rulers  thou  doest  both  confound, 
And  loyall  truth  to  treason  doest  incline  : 
Witnesse  the  guiltlesse  blood  pourd  oft  on  ground, 
The  crowned  often  slaine,  the  slayer  cround; 
The  sacred  Diademe  in  peeces  rent, 
And  purple  robe  gored  with  many  a  wound, 
Castles  surprizd,  great  cities  sackt  and  brent ; 
So  mak'st  thou   kings,  and  gaynest  wrongfull  govern- 
ment. 

"  Long  were  to  tell  the  troublous  stormes  that  tosse 
The  private  state,  and  make  the  lite  un sweet : 
Who  swelling  sayles  in  Caspian  sea  cloth  crosse, 
Ainl  in  frayle  wood  on  Adrian  gulf  doth  fleet, 
Doth  not,  I  weene,  so  main-  evils  meet." 
Then  Mammon  wexing  wroth  :   "And  why  then,"  sayd, 
"Are  mortal!  men  so  fond-  and  undiscreet 
So  evil)  thing  to  seeke  unto  their  ayd, 
And  having  not  complaine,  ami  having  it  upbrayd?" 

" Indeede,"  (quoth  he)  "through  fowle  intemperaunce 
Frayle  men  are  ofl  i  aptiv'd  to  covetise  ; 
Bui  would  they  thinke  with  how  small  allowaunce 
Untroubled  Nature  doth  herselfe  suffise, 
Such  superfluities  they  would  despise, 
Which  with  sad  cares  empea<  h  -::  our  native  joyes. 
At  the  well-head  the  purest  streames  arise ; 
Bui  mucky  filth  his  braum  hing   omes  annoyes, 
And  with  uncomely  weedes  the  gentle  wave  accloyes.24 

"The  antique  world,  in  his  firsl  flowring  youth, 
Fownd  no  defe<  t  in  his  Creators  gra<  i  , 


228  EDMUND  SPENSER. 

But  with  glad  thankes,  and  unreproved  truth,25 

The  gifts  of  soveraine  bounty  did  embrace  : 

Like  Angels  life  was  then  mens  happy  cace; 

But  later  ages  pride,  like  corn-fed  steed, 

Abuse!  her  plenty  and  fat  swolne  encreace 

To  all  licentious  lust,  and  gan  exceed 

The  measure  of  her  meane  and  natural!  first  need. 

"  Then  gan  a  cursed  hand  the  quiet  wombe 
Of  his  great  Grandmother20  with  Steele  to  wound, 
And  the  hid  treasures  in  her  sacred  tombe 
With  Sacriledge  to  dig.     Therein  he  fownd 
Fountaines  of  gold  and  silver  to  abownd, 
Of  which  the  matter  of  his  huge  desire 
And  pompous  pride  eftsoones  he  did  compownd  ; 
Then  avarice  gan  through  his  veines  inspire 
His  greedy  flames,  and  kindled  life-devouring  fire." 

"Sonne,"  (said  he  then)  "  lett  be27  thy  bitter  scorne, 
And  leave  the  rudenesse  of  that  antique  age 
To  them  that  liv'd  therein  in  state  forlorne  : 
Thou,  that  doest  live  in  later  times,  must  wage28 
Thy  workes  for  wealth,  and  life  for  gold  engage. 
If  then  thee  list  my  off  red  grace  to  use, 
Take  what  thou  please  of  all  this  surplusage; 
If  thee  list  not,  leave  have  thou  to  refuse  : 
But  refused  doe  not  afterward  accuse." 

"  Me  list29  not"  (said  the  Elfin  knight)  "  receave 
Thing  offred,  till  I  know  it  well  be  gott ; 
Ne  wote  but  thou  didst  these  goods  bereave 
From  rightfull  owner  by  unrighteous  lott, 
Or  that  bloodguiltinesse  or  guile  them  blott." 


THE    CAVE    OF  MAMMON.  229 

"  Perdy,"  ^  (quoth  he)  "  yet  never  eie  did  vew, 

Ne  tong  did  tell,  ne  hand  these  handled  not; 

But  safe  I  have  them  kept  in  secret  mow 

From  hevens  sight,  and  powre  of  al  which  them  poursew. 

"  What  secret  place  "  (quoth  he)  "  can  safely  hold 
So  huge  a  masse,  and  hide  from  heaven's  eie? 
Or  where  hast  thou  thy  wonne,81  that  so  much  gold 
Thou  canst  preserve  from  wrong  and  robbery  ?  " 
"Come  thou,"  (quoth  he)  "and  see."     So  by  and  by 
Through  that  thick  covert  he  him  led,  and  fownd 
A  darkesome  way,  which  no  man  could  descry, 
That  deep  descended  through  the  hollow  ground, 
And  was  with  dread  and  horror  compassed  arownd. 

At  length  they  came  into  a  larger  space, 
That  stretcht  itselfe  into  an  ample  playne; 
Through  which  a  beaten  broad  high  way  did  trace, 
That  straight  did  lead  to  Plutoes  griesly  rayne.82 
By  that  waves  side  there  sate  internal!  Payne, 
And  last  beside  him  sat  tumultuous  Strife: 
The  one  in  hand  an  yroil  whip  did  strayne, 
The  other  brandished  a  bloody  knife; 
And  both  tlid  gnash  their  teeth,  and  both  did  thivlrn  life. 

<>n  thother  side  in  one  consort  there  sate 
Cruell  Revenge,  and  rancorous  Despight, 
Disloyal]  Treason,  and  harl  burning  Hate; 
But  gnawing  Gealousy,  out  oi  their  sighl 
Sitting  alone,  his  bitter  lips  did  bighl  ; 
And  trembling  Feare  still  to  and  fro  did  llv, 

And  found  no  place  wher  safe  In-  shroud  him  might  : 

Lamenting  Sorrow  did  m  darknes  lye, 

And  Shame  his  ugl)  fai  e  did  hide  from  living  eye. 


230  EDMUND   SPENSER. 

And  over  them  sad  Horror  with  grim  hew 
Did  alwaies  sore,  beating  his  yron  wings ; 
And  after  him  Owles  and  Night-ravens  flew, 
The  hatefull  messengers  of  heavy  things, 
Of  death  and  dolor  telling  sad  tidings, 
Whiles  sad  Celeno,  sitting  on  a  clifte, 
A  song  of  bale  and  bitter  sorrow  sings, 
That  hart  of  flint  asonder  could  have  riftc ; 
Which  having  ended  after  him  she  flyeth  swifte. 

All  these  before  the  gates  of  Pluto  lay, 
By  whom  they  passing  spake  unto  them  nought ; 
But  th'  Elfin  knight  with  wonder  all  the  way 
Did  feed  his  eyes,  and  fild  his  inner  thought. 
At  last  him  to  a  little  dore  he  brought, 
That  to  the  gate  of  Hell,  which  gaped  wide, 
Was  next  adjoyning,  ne  them  parted  ought: 
Betwixt  them  both  was  but  a  little  stride, 
That  did  the  house  of  Richesse  from  hell-mouth  divide. 

Before  the  dore  sat  selfe-consuming  Care, 
Day  and  night  keeping  wary  watch  and  ward, 
For  feare  least  Force  or  Fraud  should  unaware 
Breake  in,  and  spoile  the  treasure  there  in  gard : 
Ne  would  he  suffer  Sleepe  once  thither-ward 
Approch,  albe  his  drowsy  den  were  next; 
For  next  to  Death  is  Sleepe  to  be  compard;33 
Therefore  his  house  is  unto  his  annext : 
Here   Sleep,   ther  Richesse,   and    Hel-gate    them  both 
betwext. 

So  soon  as  Mammon  there  arrivd,  the  dore 
To  him  did  open  and  affoorded  way  : 


THE    CAVE    OF  MAM  MOW  231 

Him  followed  eke  Sir  Guyon  evermore, 

Ne  darknesse  him,  ne  daunger  might  dismay. 

Soone  as  he  entred  was,  the  dore  streight  way 

Did  shutt,  and  from  behind  it  forth  there  lept 

An  ugly  feend,  more  fowle  then  dismal!  day, 

The  which  with  monstrous  stalke  behind  him  stept, 

And  ever  as  he  went  dew  watch  upon  him  kept. 

Well  hoped  hee,  ere  long  that  hardy  guest, 
If  ever  covetous  hand,  or  lustful!  eye, 
( )r  lips  he  layd  on  thing  that  likte  him  best, 
Or  ever  sleepe  his  eie-strings  did  untye, 
Should  be  his  pray.     And  therefore  still  on  bye 
1  [e  over  him  did  hold  his  cruel!  clawes, 
Threatning  with  greedy  gripe  to  doe  him  dye, 
And  rend  in  peeces  with  his  ravenous  pawes, 
If  ever  he  transgrest  the  fatal  Stygian  lawes. 

That  houses  forme  within  was  rude  and  strong, 
Lyke  an  huge  cave  hewne  out  of  rocky  clifte, 
From  whose  rough  vaut  the  ragged  breaches  hong 

Embossed  with  mass)'  gold  of  glorious  guifte, 
And  with  rich  metal!  loaded  every  rifte, 

That  heavy  mine  they  did  seeme  to  threatt  ; 
And  over  them  Arachne  high  did  lifte 
Her  l  imning  wd),  and  spred  her  sulttile  nett, 
Enwrapped  in  fowle  smoke  and  clouds  more  black  than 
Jett. 

Both  roofe,  and  floore,  and  walls,  were  all  ol  ''.old, 
Bui  overgrowne  with  dust  and  old  decay, 

And  hid  in  darkenes,  that  none  Could  behold 
The  hew  thereof;    lor  v<w  ol  <  h.  n  lull  day 


232  EDMUND  SPENSER. 

Did  never  in  that  house  it  selfe  display, 

But  a  faint  shadow  of  uncertein  light : 

Such  as  a  lamp,  whose  life  does  fade  away, 

Or  as  the  Moone,  cloathed  with  clovvdy  night, 

Does  show  to  him  that  walkes  in  feare  and  sad  affright. 

In  all  that  rowme  was  nothing  to  be  scene 
But  huge  great  yron  chests,  and  coffers  strong, 
All  bard  with  double  bends,  that  none  could  weene 
Them  to  efforce  by  violence  or  wrong : 
On  every  side  they  placed  were  along ; 
But  all  the  grownd  with  sculs  was  scattered, 
And  dead  mens  bones,  which  round  about  were  flong ; 
Whose  lives,  it  seemed,  whilome3''  there  were  shed, 
And  their  vile  carcases  now  left  unburied. 


NOTES. 

This  is  a  selection  from  Spenser's  great  poem,  "The  Faerie  Queene," 
being  a  part  of  the  seventh  canto  of  book  second.  "The  Faerie  Queene" 
was  published  in  1590,  and  comprises  six  books  of  twelve  cantos  each. 
The  first  book  is  the  Legend  of  the  Red  Cross  Knight,  or  Holiness;  the 
second,  of  Sir  Guyon,  or  Temperance;  the  third,  of  Britomartis,  or  Chas- 
tity; the  fourth,  of  Cambel  and  Triamond,  or  Friendship;  the  fifth,  of 
Artegall,  or  Justice;  the  sixth,  of  Sir  Calidore,  or  Courtesy.  It  was  Spen- 
ser's design  that  the  complete  work  should  contain  twelve  books,  but  of 
the  remaining  part  only  a  fragment  of  one  book,  the  "  Legend  of  Con- 
stance," is  in  existence. 

The  versification  of  the  "Faerie  Queene"  is  based  upon  the  otlava 
rima,  made  so  popular  in  Italian  poetry  by  Tasso  and  Ariosto.  Instead  of 
eight  lines  to  a  stanza,  however,  there  are  nine.  The  first  eight  lines  are 
iambic  pentameters,  and  the  ninth  a  hexameter,  the  stanza  thus  closing 
with  a  lingering  cadence  which  adds  greatly  to  the  melody  of  the  verse. 
This  is  the  "  Spenserian  stanza,"  a  form  of  versification  very  popular  with 
many  of  our  later  poets. 

"  If  you  love  poetry  well  enough  to  enjoy  it  for  its  own  sake,"  says 
Leigh   Hunt,  "let  no  evil  reports  of  his  allegory  deter  you  from  an  ac- 


THE    CAVE    OF  MAMMON.  233 

quaintance  with  Spenser,  for  great  will  be  your  loss.  His  allegory  itself  is 
but  one  part  allegory  and  nine  parts  beauty  and  enjoyment;  sometimes  an 
excess  of  flesh  and  blood.  His  wholesale  poetical  belief,  mixing  up  all 
creeds  and  mythologies,  but  with  less  violence,  resembles  that  of  Dante 
and  Boccaccio.     His  versification  is  almost  perpetual  honey." 

i.  delve.  Dell,  From  A.-S.  del/an,  delve,  to  dig.  Each  canto  of 
the  "  Faerie  Queene  "  is  introduced  by  a  four-line  doggerel  like  this,  con- 
taining the  argument,  or  a  brief  summary  of  the  narrative,  —  in  imitation, 
probably,  of  Ariosto's  "  Orlando  Furioso." 

2.  hore.  Sordid,  miserly.  Probably  from  A.-S.  harian,  to  become 
mouldy  or  musty.     The  word  hoard  may  be  traced  to  a  similar  root. 

3.  stedfast  starre.     The  pole-star.     See  "Faerie  Queene,"  I,  ii,  1  : 

"  By  this  the  northerne  wagoner  had  set 
His  sevenfold  teme  behind  the  stedfast  starre 
I  hat  was  in  ocean  waves  yet  never  wet, 
But  firme  is  fixt,  and  sendeth  light  from  farre 
To  all  that  in  the  wide  decpe  wandring  arre." 

4.  yblent.     Blinded. 

5.  dreriment.     Darkness. 

6.  firmes.     Fixes,  makes  firm. 

7.  yode.  Went.  The  past  participle  of  the  old  xcxb  yede,  from  A.-S. 
gongead,  v>  go,  t.>  proceed. 

8.  reedes.     Considers.     From  A.-S.  reed,  counsel,  advice;  O.  E.  rede, 

9.  salvage.  Savage,  wild.  It.  sauvage.  From  I. at.  silva,  forest. 
See  "  Faerie  Queene,"  IV,  v,  19: 

"  For  all  his  armour  was  like  salvage  weed 

Willi  urMi.ly  mosse  bedight,  and  all  his  steed 

With  oak'-n  leaves  attrapt,  that  seemed  fit 
for  salvage  wight,  and  thereto  well  agreed 
II.  .  word,  win'  h  on  Ins  ragged  shield  was  writ, 
Sah  i'/,  finesse}  shewing  secret  wit." 

wight.     Person,      from  A.-S.  wiht. 

"  For  every  wight  thai  loved  chevalrie." 

—  Chaucer x  Canterbury  Tales,  2105. 

griesly.     Dreadful.     FromA.-S.^ri  '  isan,  to  dread.     t'.nsh-. 

10.  bedight.     Covered.     From  dight,  to  dress,  to  deck.     A.-S.  dihtan. 
u.   fire-spitting.    "  Spelt  seems  anciently  to  hav<  n :  simply  signified 

.//  /  >    .  without  the  low  idea  whii  h  we  al  pres<  nl  arm  to  it."    -  IVarton. 
i2.   entayle.     Sculpture,  carving.     Compare  intaglio. 


'  Wildness  without  art. 


234  EDMUND   SPENSER. 

13.  antickes.     Odd,  or  fantastic,  forms.     From  Lat.  antiquus,  ancient. 

14.  of  Mulcibers  devouring  element.  By  tire.  Mulciber  is  a  sur- 
name of  Vulcan,  "  which  seems  to  have  been  given  him  as  an  euphemism, 
that  he  might  not  consume  the  habitations  and  property  of  men,  but  kindly 
aid  them  in  their  pursuits." 

15.  withouten  moniment.     Without  superscription. 

16.  swinck.     Labor,  drudge.     A.-S.  swincan,  to  toil. 

17.  sew.     Follow.     From  Fr.  snivre. 

deigne.     From  Fr.  daigner,  to  consider  worthy.     Opposed  to  disdain. 

18.  Me  ill  besits.     It  ill  becomes  me. 
derdoing.     Dare-doing;    doing  daring  deeds. 

19.  worldly  mucke.     "  Filthy  lucre." 

20.  spright.     Spirit. 

21.  weet.     Understand.     From  A.-S.  witan,  to  know. 

22.  fond.     Foolish. 

23.  empeach.     Hinder.     Fr.  empecher. 

24.  accloyes.  Chokes  or  clogs  up.  Observe  how  the  poet  carries  out 
his  metaphor  of  the  "  well-head,"  "  the  purest  streames,"  "  his  braunching 
amies,"  and  "  the  gentle  wave." 

25.  unreproved  truth.     Sincerity. 

26.  great  Grandmother.     Mother  Earth. 

27.  lett  be.     Leave  off;   make  an  end  of. 

28.  wage.  Pledge.  Observe  the  relationship  between  this  word  and 
both  wager  and  wages. 

29.  Me  list.  I  wish.  Compare  methinks,  meseems.  From  A.-S. 
lystan,  to  choose. 

"  The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth."  —  John  iii.  8. 

wote.     Understood.     See  note  21,  above. 

30.  Perdy.  An  old  oath  used  to  give  emphasis  to  an  assertion.  From 
Fr.  par  dieu. 

31.  wonne.     Habitation.     From  A.-S.  wunian,  to  dwell. 

32.  rayne.  Reign.  The  word  is  frequently  used  in  the  older  poets 
for  realm,  or  region. 

33.  next  to  Death  is  Sleepe. 

"  How  wonderful  is  Death  ! 
Death  and  his  brother  Sleep!  " 

—  Shelley,  Queen  Mab,  I. 

34.  whilome.     At  some  time. 


PROTHALAMIOX;    OR,   A    SPOUSALL    VERSE.         235 


PROTHALAMION;    or,   A   SPOUSALL  VERSE. 

In  honour  of  the  double  marriage  of  the  two  honorable  and 
vertuous  ladies,  hie  lady  elizabeth  ant)  the  lady  katherine 
Somerset,  daughters  to  the  right  honorable  the  Earle  of 
Worcester,  and  espoused  to  the  two  worthie  gentlemen,  M. 
Henry  Gilford  and  M.  William  Peter,  Esquyers. 

Calme  was  the  day,  and  through  the  trembling  ayre 

Sweetedjreathing  Zephyrus  did  softly  play 

A  gentle  spirit,  that  lightly  did  delay 

Hot  Titans1  beames,  which  then  did  glyster  fayre ; 

When  I,  (whom  sullcin  care, 

Through  discontent  of  my  long  fruitlessc  stay 

In  princes  court,2  and  expectation  vayne 

Of  idle  hopes,  which  still  doe  fly  away 

Like  empty  shadows,  did  afflict  my  brayne,) 

Walkt  forth  to  ease  my  payne 

Along  the  shoare  of  silver  streaming  Themmes3; 

Whose  rutty  '  bank,  the  which  his  river  hemmes, 

Was  paynted  all  with  variable  flowers, 

And  all  the  meades  adorned  with  dainty  gemmes 

Fit  to  decke  maydens  bowres, 

And  crown  their  paramours 

lin-t  ■'■  tin'  brydale-day,  which  is  not  long; 
Sweet  Themmes!   runne  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

There,  in  a  meadow,  by  the  rivers  side, 
A  tlo(  Ice  ot  Nymphes  I  chaunced  to  espy, 

All  lovely  daughters  of  the  Flood6  thereby, 
With  goodly  greenish  locks,  all  loose  imtyde,7 
As  each  had  been  a  bryde; 


236  EDMUND   SPENSER. 

And  each  one  had  a  little  wicker  basket, 

Made  of  fine  twigs,  entrayled8  curiously, 

In  which  they  gathered  flowers  to  fill  their  flasket,9 

And  with  fine  fingers  cropt 10  full  feateously 

The  tender  stalkes  on  hye.11 

Of  every  sort  which  in  that  meadow  grew, 

They  gathered  some ;  the  violet,  pallid  12  blew, 

The  little  dazie  that  at  evening  closes, 

The  virgin  lillie,  and  the  primrose  trew,13 

With  store  14  of  vermeil  roses, 

To  deck  their  bridegroomes  posies  15 

Against  the  brydale-day,  which  was  not  long : 

Sweet  Themmes !  runne  softly  till  I  end  my  song. 

With  that 16  I  saw  two  Swannes  of  goodly  hewe 

Come  softly  swimming  downe  along  the  lee17; 

Two  fairer  birds  I  yet  did  never  see ; 

The  snow  which  doth  the  top  of  Pindus  strew, 

Did  never  whiter  shew, 

Nor  Jove  himself e,  when  he  a  swan  would  be 

For  love  of  Leda,  whiter  did  appeare. 

Yet  Leda  was  (they  say)  as  white  as  he, 

Yet  not  so  white  as  these,  nor  nothing  near18 : 

So  purely  white  they  were, 

That  even  the  gentle  stream,  the  which  them  bare, 

Seem'd  foule  to  them,  and  bad  his  billowcs  spare 

To  wet  their  silken  feathers,  least  they  might 

Soyle  their  fay  re  plumes  with  water  not  so  fayre, 

And  marre  their  beauties  bright, 

That  shone  as  heavens  light, 

Against  their  brydale  day  which  was  not  long : 

Sweet  Themmes  !  runne  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 


PROTHALAMION;    OR,   A   SPOUSALL    VERSE.         237 

Eftsoones  ly  the  Nymphes,  which  now  had  flowers  their 

till, 
Ran  all  in  haste  to  see  that  silver  brood, 
As  they  came  floating  on  the  cristal  flood; 
Whom  when  they  sawe,  they  stood  amazed,  still, 
Their  wondring  eyes  to  fill ; 
Them  seem'd  they  never  saw  a  sight  so  fayre, 
Of  fowles,  so  lovely,  that  they  sure  did  deeme 
Them  heavenly  borne,  or  to  be  that  same  payre 
Which  through  the  skie  draw  Venus  silver  teeme ; 
For  sure  they  did  not  seeme 
To  be  begot  of  any  earthly  seede, 
But  rather  angels,  or  of  angels  breede  ; 
Yet  were  they  bred  of  Somers-heat,2"  they  say, 
In  sweetest  season,  when  each  flower  and  weede 
The  earth  did  fresh  array; 
So  fresh  they  seem'd  as  day, 
Even  as  their  brydale  day,  which  was  not  long  : 
Sweet  Themmes  !   runne  softly  till  I  end  my  song. 

Then  forth  t hey  all  out  of  their  baskets  drew 
it  stun-  ol  flowers,  the  honour  ol  the  field, 
That  to  the-  sense  (lid  fragrant  odours  yeild, 

All  which  upon  those  goodly  birds  they  threw, 
And  all  the  waves  did  strew, 

That  like  old    iVneus-1  waters  they  did  seeme, 
When  downe  along  l>v  pleasant  Tempes  shore, 

Scattred  with  flowres,  through  Thessaly  they  streeme, 
That  they  appeare,  through  lillies  plenteous  store, 
Like  a  1m\ dea  <  hambre  flore. 
Two   oi    those   Nymphes,  meane  while,  two  garlands 

bound 
Of  freshest  flowres  which  in  that  mead  they  found, 


23S  EDMUND   SPENSER. 

The  which  presenting  all  in  trim  array, 
Their  snowie  foreheads  therewithal]  they  crownd 
Whilst  one  did  sing  this  lay, 
Prepar'd  against  that  day, 

Against  their  brydale  day,  which  was  not  long: 
Sweet  Themmes !  runne  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

"  Ye  gentle  Birdes  !  the  worlds  faire  ornament 
"  And  heavens  glorie,  whom  this  happie  hower 
"  Doth  leade  unto  your  lovers  blissful]  bower, 
"  Ioy  may  you  have,  and  gentle  hearts  content 
"  Of  your  loves  couplement ; >22 
"  And  let  faire  Venus,  that  is  Oueene  of  Love, 
"With  her  heart-quelling  Sonne23  upon  yon  smile, 
'  Whose  smile,  they  say,  hath  vertue  to  remove 
"  All  loves  dislike,  and  friendships  faultie  guile 
"  Forever  to  assoile.24 

"  Let  endlesse  peace  your  steadfast  hearts  accord, 
"And  blessed  plentie  wait  upon  your  bord26; 
"And  let  your  bed  with  pleasures  chast  abound, 
"That  fruitful]  issue  may  to  you  afford, 
"  Which  may  your  foes  confound 
"  And  make  your  ioyes  redound 
"Upon  your  brydale  day,  which  is  not  long." 

Sweet  Themmes  !  runne  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 


So  ended  she ;  and  all  the  rest  around 

To  her  redoubled20  that  her  undersong, 

Which  said,  their  brydale  day  should  not  be  long 

And  gentle  Eccho  from  the  neighbour27  ground 

Their  accents  did  resound. 

So  forth  those  ioyous  Birdes  did  passe  along 

Adowne  the  lee,  that  to  them  murmurde  low, 


PROTHALAMION ;    OR,  A    SPOUSALL    VERSE.         239 

As  he  would  speake,  but  that  he  lackt  a  tong, 
Yet  did  by  signes  his  glad  affection  show, 
Making  his  streame  run  slow. 
And  all  the  foule  which  in  his  flood  did  dwell 
Gan  flock  about  these  twaine,  that  did  excell 
The  rest,  so  far  as  Cynthia  doth  shend28 
The  lesser  stars.     So  they,  enranged  well, 
Hid  on  those  two  attend, 
And  their  best  service  lend 

Against  their  wedding  day,  which  was  not  long: 
Sweet  Themmes  !  runne  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

At  length  the)'  all  to  mery  London  came, 

To  mery  London,  my  most  kyndly  nurse,29 

That  to  me  gave  this  lifes  first  native  sourse, 

Though  from  another  place  I  take  my  name, 

An  house  of  auncient  fame  ; 

There  when  they  came,  whereas  those  bricky  towres 

The  which  on  Themmes  brode  aged  baeke  doe  ryde, 

Where  now  the  studious  lawyers  have  their  bowers, :;" 

There  whylome  wont  the  Templer  Knights  to  byde, 

Till  they  decayd  through  pride; 

Next  w  hereunto  there  standes  a  stately  place,83 

Where  nit  1  gayned  giftes  and  goodly  grace 

(  n  that  greal  lord,  which  therein  wont  to  dwell, 

Whose  w;uit  too  well  now  feels  my  freendles  case;32 

Bui  ah  !  here  fits  not  well88 

( )ld  woes,  hut  loyes,  to  tell 

Against  the  brydale  daye,  which  is  not  long: 

Sweet  Themmesl  runne  softly,  till  I  end  my  soul;. 

Yet  i herein  now  doth  lodge  a  nobler  peei ,:;l 

<iie. it  Englands  glory,  and  the  worlds  wide  wonder, 


240  EDMUND   SPENSER. 

Whose   dreadfull   name   lute  through  all   Spaine35  did 

thunder, 
And  Hercules  two  Pillors30  standing  neere 
Did  make  to  quake  and  feare  : 
Faire  branch  of  honor,  flower  of  chevalrie ! 
That  fillest  England  with  thy  triumphs  fame, 
Ioy  have  thou  of  thy  noble  victorie, 
And  endlesse  happinesse  of  thine  owne  name 
That  promiseth  the  same; 

That  through  thy  prowesse,  and  victorious  armes, 
Thy  country  may  be  freed  from  forraine  harmes, 
And  great  Elisaes  glorious  name  may  ring 
Through  all  the  world,  fill'd  with  thy  wide  alarmes, 
Which  some  brave  muse  may  sing 
To  ages  following, 
Upon  the  brydale  day  which  is  not  long : 

Sweet  Themmes !  runne  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

From  those  high  towers  this  noble  lord  issuing, 

Like  radiant  Hesper,37  when  his  golden  hare 

In  th'  ocean  billows  he  hath  bathed  fayre, 

Descended  to  the  rivers  open  vewing, 

With  a  great  train  ensuing. 

Above  the  rest  were  goodly  to  bee  seene 

Two  gentle  Knights  of  lovely  face  and  feature, 

Beseeming  well  the  bovver  of  any  queene, 

With  gifts  of  wit  and  ornaments  of  nature, 

Fit  for  so  goodly  stature, 

That  like  the  Twins  of  love38  they  seem'd  in  sight, 

Which  decke  the  bauldricke  39  of  the  heavens  bright ; 

They  two  forth  pacing  to  the  rivers  side, 

Receiv'd  those  two  faire  Brides,  their  loves  delight ; 


PROTHALAMION;    OK,   A    SPOUSALL    VERSE.         241 

Which,'"  at  th'  appointed  tyde, 

Each  one  did  make  his  Bryde 

Against  their  brydale  day,  which  is  not  long  : 

Sweet  Themmes!  rnnne  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 


NOTES. 


This  poem  was  written  and  published  towards  the  end  of  the  year  1595. 
'I  lie  word  prothalamium  is  from  Gr.  pro,  for,  and  thalamos,  a  bride- 
chamber,  and  would  more  properly  be  applied  to  a  marriage-song  than  to 
"a  spousall  verse.''  Spenser  had  already  written  —  earlier  in  the  same 
year  —  the  " Epithalamium "  in  honor  of  his  own  marriage.  The  singing 
of  a  hymeneal  song  in  connection  with  the  wedding  festivities  was  a  very 
ancient  custom  among  the  Greeks.      Homer  alludes  to  it  in  the  "Iliad," 

XVIII,  493: 

"And  two  I. in  populous  towns  were  sculptur'd  there; 
In  one  were  marriage  poinp  and  revelry, 
And  brides,  in  gay  procession,  through  the  streets 
Willi  blazing  torches  from  their  chambers  borne, 
While  frequent  rose  the  hymeneal  song." 

See,  also,  Spenser's  "  Faerie  Queene,"  I,  xii,  38. 

1.  Titans.  The  word  is  used  foi  Helios,  the  son  of  the  Titans,  Hype- 
rion and  Thea.     I  that  the  apostrophe,  as  the  sign  of  the  possessive 

.  it  never  used  by  Spenser. 
glyster.     Glisten,  shine.     From  A.-S.  %li$nian,  glow,  or  shine  with  a 

Soft  light 

"  All  that  gli  ild." 

—  Sluik<-  pi  n. ,  Merchant  0/  Venice,  Act  ii,  se.  vii. 

"  Know  one  false  step  is  ne'ei  retrieved  .  .  . 

Nor  all  that  g  .Id." 

Gray,  On  «/  Favourite  <  ,it,  eti . 

fayre.  Fairly,  An  old  form  of  the  adverb,  sanctioned  by  very  old 
usage,  but  not  i  urrenl  in  Spenser's  tune. 

2.  princes  court.  Spenser  had  had  experi  I  the  many  but.  1 
disappointments  which  befall  him  who             the  favoi   -i  royalty.     In 

"  Mother  Hubbard's  Tale  "  he  1  omplains  in  tin,  wise  : 

"  full  little  k>        est  I  IOU  that  hi.t  not  tnde, 
Wli.it  hell  It   I.  in  'i>H  to  bid' 

I      lose  good  dayes  that  might  be  better  spent ; 


242  EDMUND   SPENSER. 

To  wast  long  nights  in  pensive  discontent ; 
To  speed  today,  to  be  put  back  tomorrow; 
To  feed  on  hope,  to  pine  with  feare  and  sorrow; 
To  have  thy  Princes  grace,  yet  want  her  Peeres; 
To  have  thy  asking,  yet  waite  manie  yeeres ; 
To  tret  thy  soule  with  crosses  and  with  cares; 
To  eate  thy  heart  through  comfortlesse  dispaires  ; 
To  fawne,  to  crowehe,  to  waite,  to  ride,  to  ronne ; 
To  spend,  to  give,  to  want,  to  be  undonne." 

3.  silver  streaming  Themmes.  Sir  John  Denham's  apostrophe  to 
the  Thames  is  well  known  : 

"Oh,  could  1  flow  like  thee,  and  make  thy  stream 

My  great  example,  as  it  is  my  theme  ! 

Though  deep,  yet  clear  ;   though  gentle,  yet  not  dull ; 

Strong  without  rage;  without  overflowing  full." 

—  Cooper  s  Hill,  189. 

And  Pope  praises  the  stream  in  still  more  extravagant  terms: 

"  No  seas  so  rich,  so  gay  no  banks  appear, 

No  lake  so  gentle,  and  no  spring  so  clear." 

—  Windsor  Forest,  227. 
See,  also,  Spenser's  "  Faerie  Queene,"  IV,  xi. 

4.  rutty.     Rooty. 

5.  Against.     For,  or  in  preparation  fur;    to  provide  for.      Compare 

Genesis  xliii.  25:  "Ami  they  made  ready  the  present  against  Joseph  came 

at    noon."     And    Shakespeare's    "  Midsummer    Night's    Dream,"  Act    iii, 

sc.  ii : 

"  I'll  charm  his  eyes  against  she  do  appear." 

6.  Flood.  This  wind  was  often  used,  as  here,  to  denote  simply  a  river. 
Pope  addresses  the  river  Thames: 

"  Thou,  too,  great  father  of  the  British  floods  !  " 

7.  all  loose  untyde.  Steevens  says:  "Brides  formerly  walked  to 
church  with  their  hair  hanging  loose  behind." 

8.  entrayled.     Twisted,  interlaced. 

g.  flasket.  A  long,  shallow  basket.  Not  used  here  as  the  diminutive  of 
flask.  Hales  says  it  is  the  name  given  by  the  fishermen  of  Cornwall  to  the 
vessel  in  which  the  fish  are  transferred  from  the  seine  to  the  "tuck-net." 

10.    cropt.     <  lathered.     Dutch  krappen,  to  cut  off. 

feateously.     Neatly,  skilfully.     Compare  Chaucer : 

"And  French  she  spake  ful  fayre  and  fetisly." 

—  Canterbury  Tales,  124. 
"A  chambre  had  he  in  that  hostelrie 
Ful  fetisly  vdight  with  herbes  sote." 

—  Ibid.,  3205. 


PROTHALAMION ;    OR,   A    SPOUSALL    VERSE.         243 

ii.    on  hye.     In  haste.     Probably  the  same  as  hie,  haste. 

12.  pallid.     Pale. 

13.  primrose  trew.     Compare  Milton's  " Lycidas,"  142: 

"The  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies." 
And  Shakespeare's  "The  Winter's  Tale,"  Act  iv,  sc.  iii; 
"  Pale  primroses  that  die  unmarried." 

14.  store.     Abundance. 

vermeil.     Vermilion.     Commonly  used  as  a  noun. 

15.  posies.  ■'  Posy  originally  meant  verses  presented  with  a  nosegay 
or  a  bunch  of  flowers,  and  hence  the  term  came  to  be  applied  to  the 
tlowers  themselves." 

16.  With  that.     At  the  same  time. 

Swannes.  "  Paulus  |"\ius,  who  died  in  1552,  describing  the  Thames, 
says:  'This  river  abounds  in  swans,  swimming  in  flocks;  the  sight  of 
whom  ami  their  noise  arc  vastly  agreeable  to  the  lleets  that  meet  them  in 
their  course.'  '  —  fCnighfs  Cyclopedia  of  London. 

17.  lee.     Water,  <>r  river.     See  "  Faerie  Queene,"  Y,  ii,  19: 

"  I  lis  corps  was  cai  1  ied  di  iwne  along  the  lee, 

\\  I  t<  is  with  his  filthy  bloud  it  stayned." 

Also,  Ibid.,  IV,  ii,  16: 

"  As  when  two  warlike  bi  igandines  at  sea, 
With  murdrous  weapons  arm'd  to  cruell  fight, 
I  '■■  mi  ■  '  1  on  the  watry  lea." 

I  he  word  is  of  <  leltic  origin,  and  is  very  common  as  a  river-name  in  Eng- 
land, Ireland,  Fra ,  and  othei  parts  ol  Western  Europe. 

18.  nor  nothing  near,     [nearly  English  two  negatives  did  not  destroy 

•  now,  but  made  the  negation  more  emphatic. 

19.  Eftsoones.     Soon  aft  1      I  rora  A.-S.  e/i,  after,  and  tona,  sunn. 

20.  Somers-heat.  The  two  ladies  celebrated  in  this  poem,  it  will  be 
remembered,  ly  Elizabeth  and  Lady  [Catherine  Somerset. 

21 .  The  Peneus  river,  the  most  important  jtrei 1  I  hessaly,  forces  its 

way  through  the  Vale  ol  Tempe,  between  Mounts  Ossa  and  Olympus,  into 

■j  a. 

22.  loves  couplement.     Mania 

23.  heart-quelling  Sonne.     Cupid. 

24.  assoile.     I  ree  from,  pul  "ft. 

"  l  b rough  long  wati  h,  and  late  dales  weary  I 
She  soundly  llept,  and  1  art  full  thoughts  did  quite  as  loile." 

—  Faerie  Queene,  1 1 1,  i,  58. 


244  EDMUND   SPENSER. 

25.  bord.  "Bed"  and  "board"  are  two  associated  terms,  very  fre- 
quently so  used,  which  imply  the  performance  of  the  two  acts  necessary 
for  the  maintenance  of  life  —  sleeping  ami  eating.  See  Shakespeare's 
"  Comedy  of  Errors,"  Act  v,  sc.  i : 

"  In  bed  he  slept  not  for  my  urging  it , 
At  board  he  fed  not  for  my  urging  it." 

Also,  "  As  You  Like  It,"  Act  v,  sc.  iv : 

"  Wedding  is  great  Juno's  crown  — 
O  blessed  bond  of  board  and  bed  !  " 

26.  redoubled.     Repeated. 
undersong.      Refrain,  burden. 

27.  neighbour.     See  note  10,  on  Burns's  "  Cotter's  Saturday  Night." 

28.  shend.     <  (utshine,  shame,  disgrace.     From  A.-S.  scendan. 

29.  my  most  kyndly  nurse.  Although  born  in  London,  the  poet 
was  "  descended  from  the  ancient  and  honourable  family  of  Spencer,  of 
Althorpe  in  Northamptonshire." 

30.  "  When  the  order  of  the  Knights  Templar  was  suppressed  in 
Edward  the  Second's  reign,  their  London  estate  on  the  bank  of  the 
Thames  was  given  over  to  the  Knights  of  St.  John;  by  these  it  was  leased 
to  the  students  of  the  Common  Law,  who,  not  finding  a  home  at  Cambridge 
or  Oxford,  were  at  that  time  in  want  of  a  habitation."  —  Hales. 

31.  stately  place.  This  stood  in  the  gardens  where  the  Outer  Temple 
should  have  been.  In  1580  it  was  occupied  by  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  and 
here  Spenser  was  for  a  tirne  entertained,  as  he  asserts  in  the  following  line. 
The  great  lord  whom  he  mentions  was  Leicester. 

32.  "The  want  of  whom  I  feel  too  well  in  my  present  friendless  con- 
dition." 

33.  fits  not  well.     It  is  not  proper. 

34.  nobler  peer.     The  Earl  of  Essex. 

35.  Macaulay  says  of  Lord  Essex's  expedition  against  Spain,  in  1596, 
that  it  was  "  the  most  brilliant  military  exploit  that  was  achieved  on  the 
Continent  by  English  arms  during  the  long  interval  which  elapsed  between 
the  battle  of  Agincourt  and  that  of  Blenheim." 

36.  Hercules  two  Pillors.  The  rocky  capes  on  either  side  of  the 
Strait  of  Gibraltar.  It  was  said  that  Hercules  erected  them  to  mark  the 
western  limit  of  his  wanderings. 

37.  Hesper.  Hesperus  was  the  evening  star,  also  sometimes  regarded 
as  the  morning  star,  and  hence  called  by  Homer  the  bringer  of  light.     See 

on  Lucifer,  page  80  and  page  189. 

38.  Twins  of  love.     Castor  and  l'ollux.     Two  heroic  brothers  who  as 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE.  245 

a  reward  of  their  devotion  to  each  other  were  placed  among  the  stars   in 
the  constellation  Gemini. 

39.  bauldricke.      Belt,   girdle,   or   sash.      The   "bauldricke    of    the 
heavens  "  is  the  zodiac. 

40.  Which.      In  early   English  this  pronoun  was  very  commonly  used 
instead  of  who  when  referring  to  persons. 


-»oJ<»<oo- 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

Edmund  Spenser  was  born  in  London  about  the  year  1552. 
He  was  educated  at  Merchant  Taylor's  school,  and  in  [569  went  to 
Cambridge  University,  where  he  entered  Pembroke  Hall  as  a  sizar. 
In  the  same  year  his  first  poetical  performances  —  translations  from 
mli  and  l)u  Bellay  —  were  published  in  a  miscellaneous  col- 
lection without  the  name  of  the  author.  At  the  University  he  was 
zealously  devoted  to  the  study  of  Latin  and  Greek  literature,  and 
there  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  several  students  who  afterwards 
.-in-  men  of  note.  In  1579  he  visited  Sir  Philip  Sidney  at  Pens- 
hurst,  with  whom  he  afterwards  spent  some  time  in  London  at  the 
house  <>f  Sidney's  mule,  the  Earl  of  Leicester.  In  15X0  was  pub- 
lished, but  without  Ids  name,  his  first  considerable  poem,  "The 
Shepheards  ( Calendar  " ;  and  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  yeai  he  went 
to  Ireland  as  ecretary  to  Lord  <  Irey  of  Wilton,  the  new  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant. With  the  exi  eption  of  a  few  brief  visits  made  to  England, 
the  remainder  of  his  life  was  spent  parti)  in  Dublin  and  partly  at 
Kilcolman  Castle  on  a  granl  ol  forfeited  land  in  the  county  ol  Cork. 
Between  1580  and  [589  he  wrote  the  firsl  three  books  ol  "The 
Faerie  Queene,"  and  in  1590  the)  w  ere  published  in  London,  through 
the  influence  ol  sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  had  recentl)  visited  the 
poi-t  in  Ireland.  In  the  summei  ol  [594  he  married  a  lad)  named 
Elizabeth,  probabl)  the  daughter  ol  lome  English  settlei  in  Ireland ; 
and  in  the  following  year  he  carried  to  London  and  published  the 
md  three  book  of'The  Faerie  Queene.11  At  aboul  the  same 
time-  weir  published  his  "<  olin  I  <  I  1  ome  Homi  Vgain,"and  his 
■•  A  in  01  itt  i  Sonnets,"  and  an  "Epithalamium"  relating  to  his  court 
ship  and  marriage.  Returning  to  Ireland,  he  resumed  hia  laboi 
upon  the  half-completed  "  Faerii    Queene,"  bul  it  was  rudel)  intei 


216  EDMUND   SPENSER. 

rupted  by  the  breaking  out  of  an  insurrection  among  the  Irish.  In 
1 598  Spenser's  house  was  sacked  and  burned  by  the  rebels,  and  it 
was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  lie  and  his  family  escaped  with 
their  lives.  Indeed,  it  is  stated,  on  the  authority  of  Ben  Jonson, 
that  one  little  child  perished  in  the  flames.  Spenser  returned  to 
London  in  poverty  and  great  distress,  and  on  the  16th  of  January, 
1599,  lie  died  in  King  Street,  Westminster.  He  was  buried  in  the 
Abbey. 

Spenser  lias  been  very  appropriately  named  "the  poets1  poet." 
"  For,"  says  Leigh  Hunt,  "  he  has  had  more  idolatry  and  imitation 
from  his  brethren  than  all  the  rest  put  together.  The  old  undra- 
matic  poets.  Drayton,  Browne,  Drummond,  and  Giles  and  Phineas 
Fletcher,  were  as  full  of  him  as  the  dramatic  were  of  Shakespeare. 
Milton  studied  and  used  him,  calling  him  'sage  and  serious  Spenser'; 
and  adding  that  he  'dared  be  known  to  think  him  a  better  teacher 
than  Scotus  and  Aquinas.'  Cowley  said  he  became  a  poet  by  read- 
ing him.  Dryden  claimed  him  for  a  master.  Pope  said  he  read 
him  with  as  much  pleasure  when  he  was  old  as  when  he  was  young. 
Collins  and  Gray  loved  him.  Thomson,  Shenstone,  and  a  host  of 
inferior  writers  expressly  imitated  him.  Hums,  Byron.  Shelley,  and 
Keats  made  use  of  his  stanza.     Coleridge  eulogized  him." 

Hazlitt  says.  "Of  all  the  poets.  Spenser  is  the  most  poetical." 
And  Taine  declares  that  no  modern  is  more  like  Homer  than  he. 

With  reference  to  the  peculiar  forms  of  language  —  comparatively 
obsolete  even  when  -  The  Faerie  Queene  "  was  composed  —  which 
are  so  marked  a  characteristic  of  Spenser's  poetry,  Hales  says: 
"The  subject  he  chose  for  his  great  work  drew  him  into  the  midst 
of  the  old  times  of  chivalry,  and  the  literature  that  belonged  to 
them.  With  such  a  subject  the  older  forms  of  the  language  seemed 
to  consort  better.  To  him,  too,  perhaps,  as  to  Virgil,  the  older 
words  and  word-forms  seemed  to  give  elevation  and  dignity.  More- 
over, an  older  dialect  was  probably  to  some  extent  his  vernacular, 
as  he  had  probably  passed  his  youth  in  Lancashire.  Lastly,  the 
only  great  poet  who  had  preceded  him.  his  great  model,  the  Tityrus 
of  whom  he  '  his  songs  did  lere,1  was  Chaucer.  To  him  Chaucer's 
language  may  have  seemed  the  one  language  of  English  poetry." 

Rei  ERENCES:  Warton's  History  of  English  Poetry;  Hazlitt's  Lectures 
on  the  In  h  h  Poets;  Craik's  Spenser  and  Ins  Poetry;  Mork-y's  English 
Writers. 


Gbomas  TO^att 


-ooXKc 


A    LOVE    SONG. 
Thk  Lover  complaineth  of  the  Unkindness  of  his  Love. 

Mv  lute,  awake!  perform  the  last 

Labor  that  thou  and  I  shall  waste; 
And  end  that  I  have  now  begun  : 
And  when  this  song  is  sung  and  past, 
My  lute  !  be  still,  for  I  have  done. 

As  to  be  heard  where  ear  is  none; 
As  lead  to  grave  in  marble  stone, 
My  song  may  pierce  her  heart  as  soon; 
Should  we  then  sing,  or  sigh,  or  moan? 
No,  no,  my  lute!  for  I  have  done. 

The  rock  doth  not  so  cruelly, 
Repulse  the  waves  i  onl inually, 
As  she  my  suit  and  affection  : 

So  that    I  am  pasl   remedy  ; 

Whereby  my  lute  and  I  have  done. 

Proud  ot  the  spoil  that  t hou  hasl  gol 
( >l  simple  heai  ts  thorough  I  .ove's  shot. 

By  'a  hom,  unkind,  thou  hast  them  won  ; 

Think  not  he  hat h  his  how  forgot, 
Although  my  lute  and  I  have  done. 

247 


248  THOMAS    HYATT. 

Vengeance  shall  fall  on  thy  disdain, 
That  makest  but  game  of  earnest  pain; 
Trow  not  alone  under  the  sun 
Unquit  to  cause  thy  lovers  plain, 
Although  my  lute  and  I  have  done. 

May  chance  thee  lie  withered  and  old 
In  winter  nights,  that  are  so  cold, 
Plaining  in  vain  unto  the  moon ; 
Thy  wishes  then  dare  not  be  told  : 
Care  then  who  list,  for  I  have  done. 

And  then  may  chance  thee  to  repent 
The  time  that  thou  hast  lost  and  spent, 
To  cause  thy  lovers  sigh  and  swoon  : 
Then  shalt  thou  know  beauty  but  lent, 
And  wish  and  want,  as  I  have  done. 

Now  cease,  my  lute !     This  is  the  last 
Labor  that  thou  and  I  shall  waste  ; 
And  ended  is  that  we  begun  : 
Now  is  thy  song  both  sung  and  past ; 
My  lute,  be  still,  for  I  have  done. 


■<•  ,;  „ ;.  •• 


THE    COURTIER'S    LIFE. 

In  court  to  serve,  decked  with  fresh  array, 
Of  sugared  meats  feeling  the  sweet  repast; 
The  life  in  banquets  and  sundry  kinds  of  play, 
Amid  the  press  of  worldly  looks  to  waste: 
Hath  with  it  joined  oft  times  such  bitter  taste, 
That  whoso  joyes  such  kind  of  life  to  hold, 
In  prison  joyes,  fettered  with  chains  of  gold. 


Z\k  i£arl  of  Surrey 


■.«*•..  ■ 


FROM     THE     FOURTH     BOOK    OF    VIRGIL'S 

"jENEID." 

—  At  the  threshold  of  her  chamber  door 

The  Carthage  lords  did  on  the  Queen  attend  : 

The  trampling  steed,  with  gold  and  purple  trapped, 

Chewing  the  foaming  bit  there  fiercely  stood. 

Then  issued  she,  awaited  with  great  train, 

Clad  in  a  cloak  of  Tyre  embroidered  rich. 

Her  quiver  hung  behind  her  back,  her  tress 

Knotted  in  gold,  her  purple  vesture  eke 

Buttoned  with  gold.     The  Trojans  of  her  train 

Before  her  go,  with  gladsome  lulus. 

.  1  •  •:•  is  eke,  the  goodliest  of  the  rout, 

Makes  our  (it  them,  and  joineth  close  the  throng. 

Like  when  Apollo  leaveth  Lycia, 

His  wint'ring  place,  and  Xanthus,  stood  likewise, 

To  visit  Delos  his  mother's  mansion, 

Repairing  efl  and  furnishing  her  quire. 

The  Candians  and  the  t<>ll<  oi  Driopes, 

With  painted  Agathyrsi  shout  and  cry, 

Environing  the  altars  round  about, 

When  thai  he  walks  upon  Mount  Cynthus'  top, 

I  lis  sparkled  tress  repressed  with  garlands  soft 

<  >i  tendei  leaves,  and  trussed  up  in  gold, 


250  THE   EARL    OF  SURREY. 

His  quiver  and  darts  clattering  behind  his  back  — 

So  fresh  and  lusty  did  /Kneas  seem. 

But  to  the  hills  and  wild  holts  when  they  came 

From  the  rock's  top  the  driven  savage  rose. 

So,  from  the  hills  above  on  the  other  side, 

Through  the  wide  lawns  they  gan  to  take  their  course. 

The  harts  likewise,  in  troops  taking  their  flight, 

Raising  the  dust,  the  mountain-fast  forsake. 

The  child  lulus,  blithe  of  his  swift  steed 

Amids  the  plain,  now  pricks  by  them,  by  these  ; 

And  to  the  encounter  wisheth  oft,  in  mind, 

The  foaming  boar  instead  of  fearful  beasts, 

Or  lion  brown,  might  from  the  hill  descend. 


NOTE. 


This  short  extract  is  given  as  a  sample  of  the  first  blank  verse  written 
in  the  English  language.     The  spelling  has  been  modernized. 


ooXK<>° 

A    SONNET. 

INSCRIPTION   AND    PRAISE   OF    HIS    LOVE   GERALOINE. 

From  Tuscan'  came  my  lady's  worthy  race ; 

Fair  Florence  was  some  time  their  ancient  seat; 
The  western  isle,  whose  pleasant  shore  doth  face 

Wild  Camber's  cliffs,  did  give  her  lively  heat : 
Fostered  she  was  with  milk  of  Irish  breast; 

Her  sire  an  earl ;   her  dame  of  princes'  blood: 
From  tender  years,  in  Britain  she  doth  rest 

With  king's  child,  where  she  tasteth  costly  food. 
Hunsdon  did  first  present  her  to  my  een  : 

Bright  is  her  hue,  and  Geraldine  she  hight : 


ON   THE  DEATH  OF  SIR    THOMAS    IVY  ATT.        251 

I  I;impton  mc  taught  to  wish  her  first  for  mine  : 

And  Windsor,  alas,  doth  chase  me  from  her  sight. 
Her  beauty  of  kind,  her  virtues  from  above; 
Happy  is  he  that  can  obtain  her  love. 


°?*po- 


ON    THE    DEATH   OF  SIR  THOMAS  WYATT. 

W'vatt  resteth  here  that  quick  could  never  rest: 
Whose  heavenly  gifts  increased  by  disdain, 

And  virtue  sank  the  deeper  in  his  breast; 
Such  profit  he  by  envy  could  obtain. 

A  head  where  wisdom  mysteries  did  frame, 
Whose  hammers  beat  still  in  that  lively  brain, 

As  on  a  stithe  where  that  some  work  of  lame 
Was  daily  wrought,  to  turn  to  Britain's  gain. 

A  hand  that  taught  what  might  be  s;iid  in  rhyme; 

That  reft  Cham  er  the  glory  of  his  wil  ; 
A  mark,  the  which  (unperfected  for  time) 

Some  may  approach,  but  never  none  shall  hit. 

An  eye  whose  judgment  none  effecl  could  blind, 
Friends  to  allure  and  iocs  to  reconcile, 

Whose  piercing  look  did  represenl  .1  mind 
With  virtue  fraughl  reposed  void  ol  guile. 

A  hearl  where  dread  was  never  so  impresl 

I  o  hide  the  I  hoi  ighl  that  mighl  the  truth  advance; 

In  neither  fortune  lost,  nor  \<-t  represt, 
To  swell  in  wealth,  or  yield  unto  mischam  e 


252  THE   KARL    OF  SURREY 

A  valiant  corpse,  where  force  and  beauty  met, 

Happy  alas,  too  happy  but  for  foes, 
Lived,  and  ran  the  race  that  nature  set 

Of  manhood's  shape,  when  she  the  mould  did  lose. 

Thus  for  our  guilt  this  jewel  have  we  lost ; 

The  earth  his  bones,  the  heavens  possess  his  ghost. 

o-oVd^OO 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTES. 

Wyatt  and  SURREY  arc  usually  named  together  as  the  most  illus- 
trious poets  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  sixteenth  century.  J.  Churton 
Collins  calls  them,  not  inaptly,  "  the  Dioscuri  of  the  Dawn."  "  They 
inaugurated,"  he  says,  "  that  important  period  in  our  literature  known 
as  the  Era  of  Italian  Influence,  or  that  of  the  Company  of  Courtly 
Makers  —  the  period  which  immediately  preceded  and  ushered  in 
the  age  of  Spenser  and  Shakespeare."  It  is  to  them  that  we  are 
indebted  for  the  sonnet :  they  were  indeed  the  founders  of  our  lyrical 
poetry.  Jonson,  Herrick,  Waller,  Cowley,  and  Suckling  found  inspi- 
ration in  their  ditties.  Surrey's  translation  of  the  second  and  fourth 
books  of  Virgil's  "/Eneid"  (1552)  is  the  earliest  specimen  of  blank 
verse  in  our  language. 

Thomas  Wyatt  was  born  at  Allington  Castle  in  1503,  and  in  his 
youth  was  a  prominent  and  very  popular  member  of  the  court  of 
Henry  VIII.  He  was  knighted  in  1536,  and  in  1537  became  high 
sheriff  of  Kent.  In  April  of  the  same  year  he  was  sent  as  ambas- 
sador to  Spain,  and  in  1539-40  was  with  the  court  of  Charles  V.  in 
the  Low  Countries.  Returning  to  England  he  lived  for  the  next 
two  years  in  retirement,  and  died  at  Sherborne  in  1542. 

Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey,  was  born  about  1517,  and, 

like  his  friend  Wyatt.  passed  his  youth  at  the  court  of  Henry  VIII. 
He  served  in  France  in  1540,  and  again  in  1544-46.  After  taking 
Boulogne,  he  became  its  governor;  but,  on  account  of  defeat  soon 
afterwards  at  St.  Etienne,  he  was  recalled  to  England  by  Henry 
VIII.  His  comments  upon  this  action  of  the  king  caused  his  arrest 
and  imprisonment  in  the  Tower.  A  charge  of  high  treason  was 
preferred  against  him  for  having  quartered  the  royal  arms  with  his 
own.  and  he  was  beheaded  on  Tower  Hill.  January  2r,  1547. 


Ballafcs. 


-ooJOio0- 


WALY,   WALY. 

0  WALY,1  waly,  up  the  bank, 

0  waly,  waly,  doun  the  brae,2 
And  waly,  waly,  yon  burn-side,8 

Where  I  and  my  love  were  wont  to  gae  ! 

1  lean'd  my  back  unto  an  aik, 

1  thocht  it  was  a  trustie  tree, 

But  first  it  bow'd  and  syne4  it  brak', — 
Sae  my  true  love  did  lichtlie6  me. 

O  waly,  waly,  but  love  be  bonnie 

A  little  time  while  it  is  new! 
lint  when  it's  auld  it  waxeth  cauld, 

And  fadeth  awa'  like  tin:  morning  dew. 
()  wherefore  should  I  busk1'  my  heid, 

Or  wherefore  should  I  kame  my  hair? 

For  my  true  love  has  me  forsook, 
And  says  he'll  never  lo'e  me  mair. 

Noo  Arthur's  Seat7  sail  be  my  bed, 

The  sheets  sail  ne'er  be  press'd  by  me  ; 

Sainl  Anton's  well  sail  be  my  drink  ; 

Since  my  true  love's  forsaken  me. 

Martinmas  wind,  when  wilt  thou  blaw, 

And  shake  the  green  leaves  off  the  tree? 

253 


254  BALLADS. 

O  gentle  death,  when  wilt  thou  come? 
For  of  my  life  I  am  wearie. 

Tis  not  the  frost  that  freezes  fell, 

Nor  blawing  snaw's  inclemencie, 
'Tis  not  sic  cauld  that  makes  me  cry ; 

But  my  love's  heart  grown  cauld  to  me. 
When  we  cam'  in  by  Glasgow  toun, 

We  were  a  comely  sicht  to  see ; 
My  love  was  clad  in  the  black  velvet, 

And  I  mysel'  in  cramasie. 

But  had  I  wist  before  I  kiss'd 

That  love  had  been  so  ill  to  win, 
I'd  lock'd  my  heart  in  a  case  o'  goud, 

And  pinn'd  it  wi'  a  siller  pin. 
Oh,  oh  !  if  my  young  babe  were  born, 

And  set  upon  the  nurse's  knee; 
An'  I  mysel'  were  dead  and  gane, 

And  the  green  grass  growing  over  me ! 


NOTES. 


"  This  is  a  vory  ancient  song,"  says  Bishop  Percy,  "  but  we  can  only  give 
it  from  a  modern  copy."  It  is  often  printed  as  part  of  a  ballad  relating 
to  the  history  of  Lord  James  Douglas  and  of  the  Laird  of  Blackwood. 
The  lament  is  that  of  a  beautiful  lady  whose  fortunes  were  connected  with 
those  of  Lord  Douglas. 


i 


waly.     An  interjection  denoting  grief. 


2.  brae.     Hillside. 

3.  burn-side.    Brook-side. 

4.  syne.     Then. 

5.  lichtlie.     Slight,  undervalue. 

6.  busk.     Dress. 

7.  Arthur's  Seat.     A  hill  near  Edinburgh,  at  the  foot  of  which  is 
St.  Anthony's  well. 


SIR  PATRIOT  SPENS.  255 


SIR    PATRICK    SPENS. 
A  Scottish  Ballad. 

[This  ballad  is  a  confused  echo  of  the  Scutch  expedition  which  should 
have  brought  the  Maid  of  Norway  to  Scotland  about  1285. J 

Tin:  king  sits  in  Dunfermline  town, 

Drinking  the  blude-red  wine  ; 
"  O  whare  will  I  get  a  skeely  skipper, 

To  sail  this  new  ship  of  mine  !  " 

0  up  and  spake  an  eldern  knight, 
Sat  at  the  king's  right  knee, — 

"Sir  Patrick  Spens  is  the  best  sailor, 
That  ever  sail'd  the  sea." 

(  )ur  king  has  written  a  braid  letter, 

And  seal'd  it  with  his  hand, 
And  sent  it  to  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 

Was  walking  on  the  strand. 

•■  To  Noroway,  to  Noroway, 

To  Noroway  o'er  1  tie  faem  ; 
The  kind's  daughter  ol  Noroway, 

"lis  thou  in. inn  bring  her  name." 

'I'Ih-  Inst  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

Sae  loud,  loud  laughed  he  ; 
The  neisl  word  th.it  Sii  Pati ick  read, 
The  teai  blinded  his  e'e. 

"  < »  wha  is  this  has  done  this  deed, 

And  tauld  the  king  o'  me, 
To  send  us  out,  at  this  time  oi  the  year, 

To  sail  upon  the  sea  ? 


256  BALLADS. 

"  Be  it  wind,  be  it  weet,  be  it  hail,  be  it  sleet, 

Our  ship  must  sail  the  faem  ; 
The  king's  daughter  of  Noroway, 

'Tis  we  must  fetch  her  hame." 

They  hoysed  their  sails  on  Monenday  morn, 

Wi'  a'  the  speed  they  may  ; 
They  hae  landed  in  Noroway, 

Upon  a  Wodensday. 

They  hadna  been  a  week,  a  week, 

In  Noroway,  but  twae, 
When  that  the  lords  o'  Noroway 

Began  aloud  to  say,  — 

"  Ye  Scottishmen  spend  a'  our  king's  goud, 

And  a'  our  queenis  fee." 
"Ye  lie,  ye  lie,  ye  liars  loud! 

Fu'  loud  I  hear  ye  lie. 

"  For  I  brought  as  much  white  monie, 

As  g;me  my  men  and  me, 
And  I  brought  a  half-fou  o'  glide  red  goud, 

Out  o'er  the  sea  wi'  me. 

"  Make  ready,  make  ready,  my  merry  men  a' ! 

Our  gude  ship  sails  the  morn." 
"  Now,  ever  alake,  my  master  dear, 

I  fear  a  deadly  storm  ! 

"  I  saw  the  new  moon,  late  yestreen, 
Wi'  the  auld  moon  in  her  arm  ; 

And,  if  we  gang  to  sea,  master, 
I  fear  we'll  come  to  harm." 


SIR   PATRICK   SPENS.  257 

m 

They  had  not  sailed  a  league,  a  league, 

A  league  but  barely  three, 
When  the  lilt  grew  dark,  and  the  wind  blew  loud, 
And  gurly  grew  the  sea. 

The  ankers  brak,  and  the  topmasts  lap, 
It  was  sie  a  deadly  storm  ; 

And  the  waves  cam  o'er  the  broken  ship, 
Till  a'  her  sides  were  torn. 

"O  where  will  I  get  a  gude  sailor, 

To  take  my  helm  in  hand, 
Till  I  ^et  up  to  the  tall  top-mast. 

To  see  it   I  can  spy  land  ?  " 

"  <  )  here  am  I,  a  sailor  gude, 

To  take  the  helm  in  hand, 
Till  you  go  up  to  the  tall  top  mast  ; 

Hut  I  tear  you'll  ne'er  spy  land." 

I  [e  hadna  gane  a  step,  a  step, 

A  step  but  barely  ane, 
When  a  bout  Hew  out  ot  our  goodly  ship, 

And  the  salt  s«-,i  it  came  in. 
"  I  ■  :    ,  fet<  h  ;i  u<'l>  O1  the  silken  claith, 

Another  o'  t In-  tv> ine, 
And  \\ ap  them  into  our  ship's  side, 
And  1  ■  •  t  n . ■  i  t  h  come  in." 

They  fetched  a  web  o'  the  silken  <  laith, 

Anol  h'  i  ol  the  twine, 
And  wapped  them  round  I hal  gude  ship1     ide, 

lint   .till  the  me  in 


258  BALLADS. 

O  lakh,  laith,  were  our  gude  Scots  lords 
To  weet  their  cork-heel'd  shoon  ! 

But  lang  or  a'  the  play  was  play'd, 
They  wat  their  hats  aboon. 

And  mony  was  the  feather-bed, 
That  flattered  on  the  faem  ; 

And  mony  was  the  gude  lord's  son, 
That  never  mair  cam  hame. 

The  ladyes  wrang  their  fingers  white, 
The  maidens  tore  their  hair, 

A'  for  the  sake  of  their  true  loves ; 
For  them  they'll  see  na  mair. 

O  lang,  lang,  may  the  ladyes  sit, 
Wi'  their  fans  into  their  hand, 

Before  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spens 
Come  sailing  to  the  strand  ! 

And  lang,  lang,  may  the  maidens  sit, 
Wi'  their  goud  kaims  in  their  hair, 

A'  waiting  for  their  ain  dear  loves ! 
For  them  they'll  see  na  mair. 

O  forty  miles  off  Aberdeen, 

'Tis  fifty  fathoms  deep, 
And  there  lies  gude  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 

Wi'  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feet. 


NOTES    AND    GLOSSARY. 

This  ballad  in  its  original  form  is  a  very  old  one,  and  was  probably  at 
first  a  metrical  story  of  the  Scotch  expedition  which  was  sent  to  bring  the 
Maid   of  Norway  to  Scotland  (about   the    year    1285).     In  its  sixteenth- 


THE    BAILIFF'S  DAUGHTER    OF  ISLINGTON. 


259 


century  form  it  shows  many  changes  and  additions,  some  of  which  are  not 
in  harmony  with  the  original  tale.  The  cork-heeVd  shoon,  for  example, 
were  unknown  until  some  hundreds  of  years  later  than  the  occurrence  of 
the  events  here  narrated. 


skeely,  skilful. 

skipper,  captain. 

braid,  open,  not  private. 

goud,  gold. 

fee  (see  note  13,  page  105). 


gane,  suffice. 

half-fou,  a  quart,  dry  measure, 
alake,  alack. 

lift,  sky.     (Still  used  in  Scotland.) 
shoon,  shoes. 


<■■■.«.:• 


THE   BAILIFFS   DAUC.IITKR  OF  ISLINGTON. 

There  was  a  youthe,  and  a  well-beloved  youthe, 

And  he  was  a  squires  son  ; 
He  loved  the  bayliffes  daughter  deare, 

That  lived  in  Islington. 

Yet  she  was  coye,  and  would  not  helieve 

That  he  did  love  her  soe, 
Nfoe  nor  ;it  an)'  time  would  she 

Any  countenance  to  him  showe. 

Hut  when  his  friendes  di  1  understand 

I  lis  fond  and  foolish  minde, 
They  sent  him  up  to  lain:  London, 

An  apprentice  tor  to  binde. 

And  when  he  had  hern  seven  long  yeares, 

And  never  his  love  could  see, — 
"  Many  .1  teare  have  I  shed  for  her  sake, 

When  ■-In-  little  thoughl  ol  mee." 

Then  all  the  maids  ol  Islington 
W<  nt  forth  to  spoit  .nid  playe, 


260  BALLADS. 

All  but  the  bayliffes  dan- liter  deare ; 
She  secretly  stole  awaye. 

She  pulled  off  her  gowne  of  greene, 

And  put  on  ragged  attire, 
And  to  faire  London  she  would  go 

Her  true  love  to  enquire. 

And  as  she  went  along  the  high  road, 
The  weather  being  hot  and  drye, 

She  sat  her  downe  upon  a  green  bank, 
And  her  true  love  came  riding  bye. 

She  started  up,  with  a  colour  soe  redd, 
Catching  hold  of  his  bridle-reine ; 

"One  penny,  one  penny,  kind  sir,"  she  sayd, 
"Will  ease  me  of  much  paine." 

"  Before  I  give  you  one  penny,  sweet-heart, 
Praye  tell  me  where  you  were  borne." 

"At  Islington,  kind  sir,"  sayd  shee, 
"  Where  I  have  had  many  a  scorne." 

"  I  pry  thee,  sweet-heart,  then  tell  to  mee, 
( )  tell  me,  whether  you  knowe 

The  bayliffes  daughter  of  Islington." 
"  She  is  dead,  sir,  long  agoe." 

"  If  she  be  dead,  then  take  my  horse, 

My  saddle  and  bridle  also  ; 
For  I  will  into  some  farr  countrye, 

Where  noe  man  shall  me  knowe." 


ROBIN  HOOD  AND   THE   WIDOW'S  THREE  SONS.     261 

"  O  stayc,  O  stayc,  thou  goodlye  youthe, 

She  standeth  by  thy  side  ; 
She  is  here  alive,  she  is  not  dead, 

And  readye  to  be  thy  bride." 

"  O  farewell  griefe,  and  welcome  joye, 

Ten  thousand  times  therefore; 
For  nowe  I  have  founde  mine  owne  true  love, 

Whom  I  thought  I  should  never  see  more." 


■:-:■ 


ROBIN    IIOOI)    AND    THE    WIDOWS    THREE 

SONS. 

There  are  twelve  months  in  all  the  year, 

As  I  hear  many  say, 
But  the  merriest  month  in  all  the  year 

Is  the  merry  month  of  May. 

Now  Robin  Hood  is  to  Nottingham  gone, 

With  a  link  a  down,  and  a  day, 
And  there  he  mel  a  silly  old  woman, 

Was  weeping  on  the  way. 

"What  news?   what  news5   thou  silly  old  woman, 
What   news  hast  thou   foi    mi 

Said  she,  "There's  my  three  sons  in  Nottingham  town 
I  o  day  <  ondemned  to  die." 

"  (  >,  li  e.  e  they  |>ni    lies  burnt  ?  "  he  said, 

1  >r  1  ministei  s  slain  ? 

i  >r  have  they  robbed  any  \  ii  gin  ? 
<  li  othei  men's  wives  ha> e  ta'en  ' 


262  BALLADS. 

"  They  have  no  parishes  burnt,  good  sir, 

Nor  yet  have  ministers  slain, 
Nor  have  they  robbed  any  virgin, 

Nor  other  men's  wives  have  ta'en." 

"  O,  what  have  they  done  ?  "  said  Robin  Hood, 

"  I  pray  thee  tell  to  me." 
"  It's  for  slaying  of  the  king's  fallow  deer, 

Bearing  their  long  bows  with  thee." 

"  Dost  thou  not  mind,  old  woman,"  he  said, 
"  How  thou  madest  me  sup  and  dine  ? 

By  the  truth  of  my  body,"  quoth  bold  Robin  Hood, 
"You  could  not  tell  it  in  better  time." 

Now  Robin  Hood  is  to  Nottingham  gone, 

J  /  Tith  a  link  a  down,  and  a  day, 
And  there  he  met  with  a  silly  old  palmer, 

Was  walking  along  the  highway. 

"  What  news  ?  what  news  ?  thou  silly  old  man, 

What  news,  I  do  thee  pray  ?  " 
Said  he,  "Three  squires  in  Nottingham  town 

Are  condemn'd  to  die  this  day." 

"  Come  change  thy  apparel  with  me,  old  man, 
Come  change  thy  apparel  for  mine  ; 

Here  is  ten  shillings  in  good  silver, 
Go  drink  it  in  beer  or  wine." 

"  O,  thine  apparel  is  good,"  he  said, 

"And  mine  is  ragged  and  torn  ; 
Wherever  you  go,  wherever  you  ride, 

Laugh  not  an  old  man  to  scorn." 


RORLY  HOOD  AXD   THE    WIDOW'S   THREE  SONS.     263 

"  Come  change  thy  apparel  with  me,  old  churl. 

Come  change  thy  apparel  with  mine  ; 
Here  is  a  piece  of  good  broad  gold, 

Go  feast  thy  brethren  with  wine." 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man's  hat, 

It  stood  full  high  on  the  crown  : 
"The  first  bold  bargain  that  I  come  at, 

It  shall  make  thee  come  down." 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man's  cloak, 

\\';is  patch'd  black,  blue,  and  red  ; 
He  thought  it  no  shame,  all  the  day  long, 

To  wear  the  bags  of  bread. 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man's  breeks, 

Was  patch'd  from  leg  to  side: 
"  By  the  truth  oi  my  body,"  bold  Robin  can  say, 

"This  man  loved  little  pride." 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man's  hose, 

Were  patch'd  from  knee  to  wrist: 
"  By  the  truth  of  my  body,"  said  bold  Robin  Hood, 

"  I'd  laugh  it  I  had  any  list." 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man's  shoes, 

Were  pat  h'd  both  beneath  and  aboon  ; 
Then  Robin  Hood  swore  a  solemn  oath, 
"It's  good  habit  t hat  makes  a  man." 

v  Robin  Hood  is  to  Nottingham  gone, 
With  <>  link  a  down  tin,/  <i  down, 
And  there  he  mel  » ith  the  proud  sheriff, 
W'.is  walking  along  the  town. 


264  B  \  I  LADS. 

"  Save  you,  save  you,  sheriff !  "  he  said  ; 

"  Now  heaven  you  save  and  see ! 
And  what  will  you  give  to  a  silly  old  man 

To-day  will  your  hangman  be  ?  " 

"  Some  suits,  some  suits,"  the  sheriff  he  said, 

"  Some  suits  I'll  give  to  thee  ; 
Some  suits,  some  suits,  and  pence  thirteen, 

To-day's  a  hangman's  fee." 

Then  Robin  he  turns  him  round  about, 
And  jumps  from  stock  to  stone : 

"  By  the  truth  of  my  body,"  the  sheriff  he  said, 
"  That's  well  jumpt,  thou  nimble  old  man." 

"  I  was  ne'er  a  hangman  in  all  my  life, 

Nor  yet  intends  to  trade ; 
But  curst  be  he,"  said  bold  Robin, 

"  That  first  a  hangman  was  made  ! 

"  I've  a  bag  for  meal,  and  a  bag  for  malt, 

And  a  bag  for  barley  and  corn  ; 
And  a  bag  for  bread,  and  a  bag  for  beef, 

And  a  bag  for  my  little  small  horn. 

"  I  have  a  horn  in  my  pocket, 

I  got  it  from  Robin  Hood, 
And  still  when  I  set  it  to  my  mouth, 

For  thee  it  blows  little  good." 

"  O,  wind  thy  horn,  thou  proud  fellow  ! 

Of  thee  I  have  no  doubt. 
I  wish  that  thou  give  such  a  blast, 

Till  both  thy  eyes  fall  out." 


ROBIN  HOOD  AND   THE   WIDOW'S   THREE  SONS.     265 

The  first  loud  blast  that  he  did  blow, 

He  blew  both  loud  and  shrill; 
A  hundred  and  fifty  of  Robin  Hood's  men 

Came  riding  over  the  hill. 

The  next  loud  blast  that  he  did  give, 

He  blew  both  loud  and  amain, 
And  quickly  sixty  of  Robin  Hood's  men 

Came  shining  over  the  plain. 

"  O,  who  are  these,"  the  sheriff  he  said, 

"  Come  tripping  over  the  lee  ?  " 
"They're  my  attendants,"  brave  Robin  did  say  ; 

"They'll  pay  a  visit  to  thee." 

They  took  the  gallows  from  the  slack, 

They  set  it  in  the  glen, 
Th«-y  hanged  the  proud  sheriff  on  that, 

Released  their  own  three  men. 


NOTES. 


Among  tli(:  earliest  and  must  popular   <>f  English  ballads    arc   those 

•  r  .  i     bin  II I.    This  noted,  half-mythical  outlaw  was  the  imper 

of  popular  rights  as  they  were  understood  by  Englishmen  "i  tin 
n  ili.-  days  "f  tin-  Plat  Hence  ti"   memory  "i  him 

and  his  reputed  di  I  in  the  s..n^s  <>f  tin-  people.     "It  i> 

in  old  historian,  " whom  the  common  people  love  s"  dead)  i" 
vl  comedii  *,  and  whose  history,  sun;;  by  fiddlers, 
them  more  than  any  other."      I  i  late  as   the   reign   ■■! 

l         :  l  \  l.,  ■■  l •.■.!.;. n  1 1  rally  observi  d  in  thi 

.Mtry  pari  f  feasl  ng  and  amusi  ment 

11,  riginally  the  prod  I  wandering  minstrels  "i 

of  men  very  popular  in  the  Middli    \ ■;■   .  \\li"  foil 
tin-  ;  nd  musii  .     I  hese  rude  i  I"  Id  in  the 

m  and  veneration  by  the  pcopli  whom  they  lived;  they 

ei    I         d<  lighti  'l 


206  BALLADS. 

to  honor  them.     In  short,  their  art  was  supposed,  by  the  Anglo-Saxons,  to 
be  of  divine  origin,  having  been  invented  by  Odin,  the  great  All-Father, 

and  perfected  by  Bragi,  the  musician  of  the  gods.  As,  however,  civilization 
advanced  and  Christianity  became  established,  this  admiration  for  the  min- 
strel and  his  art  became  modified  in  a  degree.  He  was  no  longer  regarded 
as  a  poet,  but  only  as  a  singer,  a  sweet  musician.  Poetry  was  cultivated 
by  men  of  leisure  and  refinement;  but  lyrical  ballads  remained  the  peculiar 
inheritance  of  the  minstrel.  For  a  long  time  after  the  Norman  conquest, 
minstrels  continued  to  gain  their  livelihood  by  singing  in  the  houses  of  the 
great,  and  at  festive  occasions,  which  were  never  considered  complete 
unless  graced  by  the  presence  of  these  honored  descendants  of  Bragi;  nor 
did  they  cease  to  compose  and  sing  their  inimitable  pieces  until  near  the 
close  of  Elizabeth's  reign.  The  greater  number  of  the  ballads  now  in 
existence  were  probably  produced  during  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  cen- 
turies; and  the  best  of  them  originated  in  the  "North  Country,"  or  the 
border  region  between  England  and  Scotland.  They  were  not  at  first 
reduced  to  writing,  but  were  handed  down  from  one  generation  to  another 
merely  by  oral  tradition.  As  regards  their  metre  and  versification,  the 
ballads  were  commonly  composed  of  iambic  hexameters  or  heptameters 
rhyming  in  couplets.  These  couplets  are  readily  broken  into  stanzas  of 
four  lines,  in  which  form  they  are  usually  printed. 

The  first  collection  of  English  ballads  ever  published  was  probably  that 
of  John  1  (ryden,  in  1684.  The  collection  was  included  in  a  volume  entitled 
Miscellany  Poems.  In  1723  a  work  called  A  Collection  of  Old  Ballads 
was  published  anonymously.  In  1724  Allan  Ramsay  issued  The  Evergreen, 
"being  a  collection  of  Scots  Poems  wrote  by  the  Ingenious  before  1600." 
This  work  included  many  popular  songs  and  ballads.  It  was  reprinted 
in  1875. 

We  owe  the  preservation  of  a  large  number  of  the  most  interesting  and 
beautiful  ballads  to  Bishop  Percy,  who,  in  1765,  published  the  first  really 
valuable  collection  of  such  works  in  his  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry. 
Previous  to  that  time  most  of  these  songs  had  existed  only  in  manuscript, 
or,  if  printed  at  all,  in  the  cheapest  style  of  typography,  on  sheets  designed 
for  circulation  among  the  poor.  Bishop  Percy's  work  first  called  the 
attention  of  scholars  to  the  value  and  beauty  of  these  neglected  and  half- 
forgotten  relics,  and  did  much  to  bring  about  that  revolution  in  literature 
which  took  place  in  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century.  And  it  is  to  these 
old  ballads,  thus  rescued  from  oblivion,  that  we  owe  very  many  of  the 
noblest  literary  productions  of  the  present  century.  We  know  that  they 
were  the  immediate  inspiration  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  that  they  exerted  a 
wonderful  influence  in  modifying  and  directing  the  taste  and  style  of  many 
other  distinguished  writers. 


Cfjc  JFiftrrntj)  (Trntttru. 


■:  g  :•  ■ 


-When  -we  pass  from  Chaucer's  age,  we  have  to  overleap  nearly  a 
hundred  and  eighty  years  before  we  alight  upon  a  period  presenting 
anything  like  an  adequate  sho-w  of  literary  continuation.  .  I  few 
smaller  names  are  all  that  can  be  cited  as  poetical  representatives  of 
this  sterile  interval  in  the  literary  history  of  /-.//gland:  whatever  of 
Chau  -  nius  still  lingered  in  the  island  seeming  to  have  trav- 
elled northward  and  taken  refuge  in  a  series  of  Scotch  poets, excelling 
any  of  their  English  contemporaries.  II  e  are  driven  to  suppose  that 
there  -was  something  in  the  social  circumstances  of  England  during 
the  long  period  in  quest 'ion  which  prevented  such  talent  as  there  was 
from  assuming  the  particular  form  of  literature.     Fully  to  make 

out  what  this  '  something'  WOS  may  baffle  US  ;  but,  when  we  remem- 
ber that  this  was  the  period  of  the  (  ivil  U  'ars  of  the  Roses,  we  /tare 
■u  to  believe  that  the  dearth  of  pure  literature  may  have  been 
owing,  in  part,  to  the  engrossing  nature  of  the  practical  questions 

which  then  disturbed  English    society Accordingly,  //touch 

printing  was  introduced  during  this  period,  and  thus  Englishmen 
had  greater  temptations  t<>  write,  what  they  did  -write  was  almost 
exclusively  flan  prose,  intended  for  practical  or  polemical 

.  andmakingn  in  a  historical retrospect '." —  David 

Masson. 

u Must  we  quote  all  these  good  people  who  hare  nothing  to  ray 

.   .    .  d>>  ,n ,  of  Iran  tlatOTS,  imparting  the  />ovc>  lies  of  Ft  en,  li  pOt  U  v. 

rhyming  chroniclers,  most  commonplace  oj  men  ;  rpinnef  i  </>/d  tpin- 
.te>  .  of  didactii  poems  who  pile  up  \  n  the  training  oj  falcons, 

on  heraldry,  on  chemistry,  .  ,  ,  invent  the  some  dream  ovet 

the  hundredth  time,  andget  themselves  taught  univet  sol  htstoi  y 
by  the  goddess  Sapience.  .  .  .     ft  is  the  scholastu  phase  of  poetry" 

—  T  UN] 

■'''7 


|3orts  of  tijr  JHftrcntjj  Crntuiu 

John  Lydgate  (i  370-1440).     See  biographical  note,  page  283. 
Thomas  Occleve  (1365-1450).    "De  Regimine  Principum";  short  poems. 
Robert  Henryson  (1425-1480).     See  biographical  note,  page  283. 
William  Dunbar  (1450-15 13).     See  biographical  note,  page  283. 
Gawain  Douglas  (1474-1522).     See  biographical  note,  page  284. 
Stephen  Hawes  (        -1530).     "The  Pastime  of  Pleasure";  "Graunde 

Amour  and  la  Belle  Pucel." 
John  Skelton  (1460-1529).     See  biographical  note,  page  272. 

268 


3ohn  Sfcelton. 


•  •:«:• 


TO    MAYSTRESS    MARGARET    IIUSSEY. 

Mikkv  Margaret, 

As  mydsomer  flowre ; 

Jcntill  as  fawcoun 

Or  hawke  of  the  towre : 
With  solace  and  gladnes, 
Moche  mirthe  and  no  madness, 
All  good  and  no  badness, 

So  joyously, 

So  maydenly, 

So  womanly, 

I  [er  demenyng 

I  n  every  thynge, 

Far,  t.n  passynge 

That  I  can  endyght, 

( )r  suffyce  to  wryghte, 

<  n   mill)'  M.ii  ;.m -I, 

As  mydsomer  flowre, 
Jentyll  as  fawcoun 

<  )i  h  iwke  oi  the  towre  : 
As  pa<  ient  and  as  styll, 
And  as  t  nil  of  good  wyll 
As  [aire  [saphill ; 

269 


270  JOHN  SKELTON. 

Colyaunder, 

Swctc  pomaunder, 
Goodc  Cassaunder  ; 
Stedfast  of  thought, 
Wele  made,  wele  wrought', 
Far  may  be  sought, 
Erst  that  ye  can  fynde 
So  corteise,  so  kynde, 
As  mirry  Margaret, 
This  mydsomer  rloure, 
Jentyll  as  fawcoun 
Or  havvke  of  the  towre. 


-»0»<00- 


CARDINAL   WOLSEY. 

[from  '-why  come  ye  not  to  court?"] 

He  is  set  so  hye 

In  his  ierarchye 

Of  frantike  frenesy, 

And  folish  fantasy, 

That  in  chambre  of  stars  * 

Al  maters  ther  he  mars, 

Clapping  his  rod  on  the  horde, 

No  man  dare  speake  a  worde : 

For  he  hath  al  the  saying 

Without  any  renaying. 

He  rolleth  in  his  Recordes ; 

He  saith,  "  How  say  ye,  my  lordes  ? 

Is  not  my  reason  good  ?" 

Good  !  —  even  good  —  Robin  Hood!  — 


IRDINAL    WOLSEY.  271 

Borne  up  on  every  syde 

With  pompe  and  with  pryde, 

With  trump  up  alleluya,2 

For  dame  Philargyria3   * 

I  lath  so  his  hart  in  hold. 

Aclew,  Philosophia  ! 

Adew,  Theologia ! 

Welcome,  chime  Simonia,4 

With  dame  Castamergia,5 

To  drink  and  for  to  eate, 

Sweete  ipocras6  and  sweete  meate. 

To  keep  his  tleshe  chaste 

I  ii  1  .rule,  for  his  repaste 

I  le  eateth  capons  stewed, 

Fesaunt  and  partriche  mewed 

Spareth  neither  mayd  ne  wife 

This  is  a  postel's7  life ! 


NOTES. 

i.  chambre  of  stars.  The  Stai  Chamber,  a  court  of  civil  and  criminal 
jurisdii  tiorj  for  the  pnnishment  ol  foi  whii  h  the  law  made  no  pro- 

vision.    It  was  so  called  bi  iling  ol  the  room  in  which  it  was 

held  I  with  gi 

2.  alleluya.  In  allusion  to  t!i<-  pomp  with  which  Wolsey  celebrated 
divini 

3.  Philargyria.     I  ovi  of  money;  covetousm 

4.  Simonia.     Simony;   buying  and  selling  church  livii 

5.  Castamergia.  Gluttony.  Greek  kastrimargia.  A  not  uncommon 
word  among  th<-  monks  "I  the  Middli  ae  ol  whose  prayers  was, 
"  From  the  spirit                          O]  ord,  deliver  us  '  " 

6.  ipocras.  1 1  i j <  1  >*  ■  piced  wine,  a  drinl  formerly  very  popular  in 
England.  It  was  made  by  mixing  <  anary  and  I  Jsbon  wines,  in  equal  parts, 
with  various  kinds  of  sweet  spices,  and  allowing  the  whole  i"  stand 

lays,  after  which  1 1 1  *  -  wine  u.i^  poured  of!  and  sweetened  with  su 

7.  postel.     Apostle      here  ironically  applied  to  V\ 


272  JOILX   SK  1:1.1  o.X. 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

John  Skelton  was  born  about  the  year  1460.  In  his  earlier  life 
lie  was  the  friend  of  Caxton,  the  first  English  printer,  and  of  Percy, 
Earl  of  Northumberland.  He  was  poet-laureate  under  Henry  VII., 
and  tutor  of  the  young  prince  (afterwards  Henry  VIII.),  and  was 
described  by  Erasmus  as  litterarum  Anglicarum  lumen  et  decus. 
Later  in  life  he  was  promoted  to  the  rectory  of  Diss  in  Norfolk,  but 
was  severely  censured  by  his  bishop  for  his  buffooneries  in  the  pulpit 
and  his  satirical  ballads  against  the  mendicants.  He  finally  became 
a  hanger-on  about  the  court  of  Henry  VIII.  ;  and,  daring  to  write  a 
rhyming  libel  on  Cardinal  Wolsey,  was  driven  to  take  refuge  in  the 
sanctuary  of  Westminster  Abbey.  There  he  was  kindly  entertained 
and  protected  by  Abbot  I  slip  until  his  death  in  1529.  Some  of  his 
poems  were  printed  in  15 12,  and  others  in  1568. 

Taine  calls  Skelton  "a  virulent  pamphleteer,  who  jumbles  to- 
gether French,  English,  Latin  phrases,  with  slang  and  fashionable 
words,  invented  words,  intermingled  with  short  rhymes.  Style, 
metre,  rhyme,  language,  art  of  every  kind,  at  an  end;  beneath  the 
vain  parade  of  official  style  there  is  only  a  heap  of  rubbish.     Yet,  as 

he  says, 

'  Though  my  rhyme  be  ragged, 
Tatter'd  and  jagged, 
Rudely  rain-beaten, 
Rusty,  moth-eaten, 
Yf  ye  take  welle  iherewithe, 
It  hath  in  it  some  pithe.'  " 

As  to  the  coarseness  which  characterizes  his  verses,  it  cannot  be 
explained  by  saying  that  it  is  a  reflection  of  the  manners  of  the 
times  in  which  he  lived.  For,  as  Warton  says,  Skelton  "  would  have 
been  a  writer  without  decorum  at  any  period."  Yet,  notwithstand- 
ing his  faults,  he  is  deserving  of  our  notice,  if  for  nothing  else,  on 
account  of  the  complete  originality  of  his  style  —  a  style  unknown 
and  unattempted  by  any  former  writer.  His  bold  departure  from 
the  accepted  rules  of  versification  showed  to  those  who  followed 
him  some  of  the  possibilities  in  English  poetical  composition,  and 
helped  to  open  the  way  to  the  great  outburst  of  song  which  followed. 


Selections  from  jfour  filMncr  U>octc>. 


A    VISIT    TO    LONDON. 
P..   Ji  >ll\    l.\  DGATE. 

Then  unto  London  I  dyd  me  h\  e, 

(  M  all  the  land  it  beaieth  the  pivse: 

•'  l!<>t  pescodes,"  one  began  to  crye, 

"  Strabery  rype,  and  cherryes  in  the  ryse  "  ; 

< me  bade  me  i  ome  nere  and  1>\  some  sp) 

Peper  and  safforne  they  gan  me  bede, 

But  for  lack  of  mony  I  myght  not  spede. 

Then  to  the  ( !hepe  I  began  me  drawn.-, 

Where  mutch  people  I  saw  for  to  stand  ; 

<  me  ofred  me  velvet,  sylke,  and  lawne, 

An  other  he  taketh  me  by  the  hande, 

"  I  [ere  is  Pai    i  thred,  the  t\  nesl  in  the  land  " , 

I  never  w  d  to  such  thyngs  indede, 

And  wanting  mony,  I  might  not  spede. 

Then  wenl  I  forth  by  London  stone, 

Tl.  all  Cai  streeti 

Di       rs  i  nit.  h  cloth  me  offred  anon.- ; 

I      n  i  omi  one,  cryi  d,  "  I  lot    hepei  feeti 

yde  "  m  ikerell,"  "ryshea  grene,"  an  othei 


274  FOUR  MINOR   POETS. 

One  bad  me  by  a  hood  to  cover  my  head, 
But  for  want  of  raony  I  myght  not  be  sped. 

Then  I  hyed  me  into  Est-Chepe ; 

One  cryes  rybbs  of  befe,  and  many  a'pye : 

Pewter  pottes  they  clattered  on  a  heape ; 

There  was  harpe,  pype,  and  mynstralsye. 

"  Yea,  by  cock  !  nay,  by  cock  !  "  some  began  crye  ; 

Some  songe  of  Jenken  and  Julyan  for  there  mede ; 

But  for  lack  of  mony  I  myght  not  spede. 

Then  into  Corn-Hyll  anon  I  yode, 
Where  was  mutch  stolen  gere  amonge ; 
I  saw  where  honge  myne  owne  hoode, 
That  I  had  lost  amonge  the  thronge  ; 
To  by  my  own  hood  I  thought  it  wronge, 
I  knew  it  well  as  I  dyd  my  crede, 
But  for  lack  of  mony  I  could  not  spede. 

The  tavcrner  tooke  me  by  the  sieve, 

"  Sir,"  sayth  he,  "  wyll  you  our  wyne  assay  "  ? 

I  answered,  "  That  can  not  mutch  me  greve  : 

A  peny  can  do  no  more  than  it  may  "  ; 

I  drank  a  pynt,  and  for  it  did  paye; 

Yet  sone  a-hungerd  from  thence  I  yedc, 

And  wantyng  mony,  I  cold  not  spede. 

Then  hyed  I  me  to  Belyngsgate ; 

And  one  cryed,  "  Hoo  !  go  we  hence  !  " 

I  prayd  a  barge-man,  for  God's  sake, 

That  he  wold  spare  me  my  expence. 

"  Thou  scapst  not  here,"  quod  he,  "  under  two  pence  ; 

I  lyst  not  yet  bestow  my  almes  dede." 

Thus,  lackyng  mony,  I  could  not  spede. 


THE    GOLDEN  AGE.  275 

Then  I  convayd  me  into  Kent ; 

For  of  the  law  wold  I  meddle  no  more; 

Because  no  man  to  me  tooke  entent, 

I  dyght  me  to  do  as  I  dyd  before. 

Now  Jesus,  that  in  Bethlem  was  bore, 

Save  London,  and  send  trew  lawyers  there  mede  ! 

For  who  so  wantes  mony  with  them  shall  not  spede. 

—  From  "London  Lickpenny." 

GLOSSARY. 

anone,  at  once.  hyed,  hurried. 

assay,  try.  lyst,  wish. 

bede,  off*  mede,  reward,  wages. 
Chepe,  the  market.     Cheapside,  still  a        pescodes,  pease. 

fan*  Ion.                             ryse,  bough  <>r  twig. 

dyght,  dispot  ryshes,  rusl 

gere,  apparel.  spede,  proi  i  ed,  do. 

greete,  <  ry  out.  yede,  went. 

»</.«JOo 


I  III.   GOLDEN    AG! 

Rjghi  u  isi  nes  <  hastised  al  robbours, 

By  egall  balaun<  e  oi  exei  in  ion, 

Fraud,  false  mede,  pu1  backward  fro  jurours, 

True  promea  holde,  made  no  delacioun  ; 

I    rswearing  shamed  dursl  enter  in  no  toun, 

Nor  le  lingmongei  j,  bet  au  <•  Aitemperaum 

Had  in  that  world  wholy  the  governaunce. 

l      '     olden  world  could  love  <  lod  and  drede, 
All  tli>  n  dedes  "l  men  v  i"i  to  u 

The  i i'  h  was  ready  to  <1<>  almi  -  d(  de, 
Who  i  iked  harbour,  men  <li<l  him  not  refu 
No  in. m  i.i  malice  would  othei  tho  accu 


276  FOUR   MINOR   POETS. 

Defame  his  neighbour,  because  Attemperaunce 
Had  in  that  world  wholy  the  governaunce. 

The  true  marchant  by  measure  bought  and  sold, 
Deceipt  was  none  in  the  artificer, 
Making  no  balkes,  the  plough  was  truely  hold, 
Abacke  stode  Idlenes,  farre  from  labourer, 
Discrecion  marcial  at  diner  and  supper, 
Content  with  measure,  because  Attemperaunce 
Had  in  that  world  wholy  the  governaunce. 

Of  wast  in  clothing  was  that  time  none  excesse ; 
Men  might  the  lord  from  his  subjectes  know ; 
A  difference  made  twene  povertie  and  richesse, 
Twene  a  princesse  and  other  states  lowe ; 
Of  horned  boastes  no  boast  was  tho  blowe, 
Nor  counterfeit  feining,  because  Attemperaunce 
Had  in  that  world  wholy  the  governaunce. 

This  golden  world  long  whyle  dyd  endure, 

Was  none  allay  in  that  metall  sene, 

Tyll  Saturne  ceased,  by  record  of  scripture, 

Jupiter  reygncd,  put  out  his  father  clene, 

Chaunged  obrison  into  silver  shene, 

Al  up  so  downe,  because  Attemperaunce 

Was  set  asyde,  and  loste  her  governaunce. 


NOTE. 


"The  Falls  of  Princes,"  from  which  this  is  an  extract,  was  printed  in 
folio  in  1558.  Its  complete  title  is,  "The  Tragedies  gathered  by  Jhon 
Bocfaas  of  all  such  Princes  as  fell  from  theyr  Estates  throughe  the  Muta- 
bility of  Fortune  since  the  creation  of  Adam  until  his  time  ;  wherin  may 
be  seen  what  vices  bring  menne  to  destruccion,  wyth  notable  warninges 
howe  the  like  may  be  avoyded.  Translated  into  English  by  John  Lidgate, 
Monke  of  Burye." 


THE    GARMOND    OF  FAIR   LADIES.  277 


THE   GARMOND    OF    FAIR    LADIES. 
By  ROBERT    HENRYS*  »N. 

Wald  my  gud  lady  lufe  me  best, 

And  wirk  eftir  my  will, 
I  suld  ane  Garmond  gudliest 

Gar  mak  hir  body  till. 

<  HI  hie  honour  suld  be  hir  hud, 

Upoun  hir  heid  to  weir, 
Garneisl  with  governance  so  gud, 

Na  demyng  suld  hir  deir. 

I  lir  sark  suld  be  hir  body  ni.\t, 

<  >i  i  hestetie  so  quh)  t, 
With  s<  hame  and  dreid  togidder  mixt, 
The  same  suld  be  perfyt. 

Hir  kirtill  suld  be  of  clene  Constance, 

I  .asit   with  Itsinn  lufe, 

'I  he  mailyheis  i  >1  i  ontinuance 
F<  ir  nevir  to  remufe 

I  lir  gown  suld  be  ol  gudliness 
Weill  i  ibband  with  renou  ne, 

I'm  tillit  with  plesour  in  ilk  pla<  e, 
I-'iii i it  w ith  I \  ne  fa  tsoun. 

I  lir  bell  suld  be  ol  benigmitie, 

About  hii  middill  meil  ; 
I  lit  mantill  ol  humilitie, 

I      I  hull  bay!  h  wind  and  u a  it 


27S  FOUR  MINOR  POETS. 

Hir  hat  sulci  be  of  fair  having 
And  her  tepat  of  trewth, 

Hir  patclct  of  glide  pansing, 
Hir  hals-ribbane  of  rewth. 

Hir  slevis  sulci  be  of  esperance, 
To  keip  hir  fra  dispair ; 

Hir  gluvis  of  the  gud  govirnance, 
To  hyd  hir  fyngearis  fair. 

Hir  schone  suld  be  of  sickernes, 
In  syne  that  scho  nocht  slyd  ; 

Hir  hoiss  of  honestie,  I  ges, 
I  suld  for  hir  provyd. 

Wald  scho  put  on  this  Garmond  gay, 
I  durst  sweir  by  my  seill, 

That  scho  woir  nevir  grene  nor  gray 
That  set  hir  half  so  weill. 


GLOSSARY. 

esperance,  hope.  patelet,  ruffet. 

fassoun,  manners.  quhyt,  white. 

garmond,  garment,  costume.  rewth,  pity. 

governance,  discretion.  sark,  shirt,  chemise, 

hals-ribbane,  neck-ribbon.  scho,  she. 

hoiss,  hose.  schone,  shoes, 

hud,  hood.  seill>  knowledge, 

kirtill,  skirt.  set,  suited. 

lasit,  fastened.  sickernes,  security. 

lesum,  lawful.  suld,  should, 

lufe,  love.  tePat>  dPPet 

mailyheis,  eyelet-holes.  tholl,  withstand, 

pansing,  thought.  weit,  rain. 


A    if  AY  MORNING.  279 

A    MAY    MORNING. 

I'.v  WILLIAM    DUNBAR. 

Quhen  Mcrchc  wes  with  variand  windis  past 
And  Appryle  had,  with  her  silver  schouris, 

Tane  Ieif  at  Nature  with  ane  orient  blast, 
And  lusty  May,  that  muddir  is  of  flouris, 
Mad  maid  the  birdis  to  begyn  thair  houris 

Amang  the  tendir  odouris  reid  and  quhyt, 

Quhois  armony  to  heir  it  wes  delyt  : 

In  bed  at  morrow,  sleiping  as  I  lay, 

Me  thochl  Aurora,  with  hir  eristall  ene 

In  at  the  window  hikit  by  the  <\.\\, 
.And  halsit  me,  with  visage  pail]  and  grene; 
On  quhois  hand  a  lark  sang  fro  the  splene, 

Awalk,  luvaris,  out  of  your  slomering 

S(-  hou  the  lusty  morrow  dois  up  spring. 

Me  thochl  fresche  May  befoir  my  bed  up  stude, 
In  weid  depaynt  ot  mony  diverss  hew, 

Sobir,  benyng,  and  full  ot  mansuetude 
In  brychl  atteir  of  Houris  forgil  new 
Hevinly  ol  colour,  quhyt,  reid,  broun  and  blew, 

Balmil  in  dew,  and  -ilt  with  Phebus  bemys ; 

Quhyll  all  tin-  house  illumynil  ol  her  lemys. 

Slugird,  scho  -aid,  awalk  annone  for  s<  hame, 

And  in  my  honour  sum  thing  thou  go  wryl  ; 

'I'hi-  lark  hes  done  the  mil  i  y  day  pro<  lame, 
l  u|)  luvaris  with  <  omfoi  t  and  del)  t  ; 

Yit  n<H  ht  ini  ressis  th)  i  urage  to  ind)  t, 


2S0  FOUR    MIX  OR   POETS. 


Quhois  hairt  sum  tyme  hes  glaid  and  blisfull  bene, 
Sangis  to  mak  undir  the  levis  grene. 

Then  callit  scho  all  flouris  that  grew  on  feilcl 
Discirnyng  all  thair  fassionis  and  effeiris 

Upone  the  awfull  Thrissil  scho  beheld 

And  saw  him  kepit  with  a  busche  of  speiris; 
Considering  him  so  able  for  the  weiris 

A  radius  croun  of  rubeis  scho  him  gaif, 

And  said,  In  feild  go  furth  and  fend  the  laif  : 

And  sen  thou  art  a  King,  thou  be  discreit; 

Herb  without  vertew  thow  hald  nocht  of  sic  pryce 
As  herb  of  vertew  and  of  odour  sueit; 

And  lat  no  nettill  vyle,  and  full  of  vyce, 

Hir  fallow  to  the  gudly  flour-de-lyce ; 
Nor  latt  no  wyld  weid,  full  of  churlicheness, 
Compair  hir  to  the  lilleis  riobilness. 

Nor  hald  mm  udir  flour  in  sic  denty 

As  the  fresche  Rois,  of  cullour  reid  and  quhyt : 

Ion-  gife  thow  dois,  hurt  is  thyne  honesty; 
Considring  that  no  flour  is  so  perfyt, 
So  full  of  vertew,  pleasans,  and  delyt, 

So  full  of  blisful  angeilik  bewty, 

Imperial]  birth,  honour  and  dignite. 


NOTE. 

This  is  a  selection  from  tin-  long  allegorical  poem,  "The  Thistle  and 
the  Rose."  The  thistle  represents  Scotland,  of  which  country  that  plant 
is  the  national  emblem.  The  fleur  de-lis,  or  lily,  represents  France;  and 
the  rose.  England.  The  poem  was  written  in  celebration  of  the  marriage 
of  James  IV.  of  Scotland  to  the  Princess  Margaret  of  England,  and  the 
friendly  relations  thus  established  for  a  time  between  those  two  countries. 


IN  PRAISE    OF  HONOUR 


2S1 


GLOSSARY. 


denty,  favor. 

effeiris,  affairs. 

ene,  i 

fallow,  betroth. 

forgit,  made,  created. 

gife,  if. 

halsit,  hailed. 

houris,  morning  orisons. 

laif,  rest. 

lemys,  rays. 

lukit,  looked. 

mansuetude,  gentleness. 

morrow,  morning. 


muddir,  mother, 
orient,  eastern. 
quhen,  when. 
quhois,  whose. 
quhyll,  while. 
rois,  rose, 
sic,  such. 
speiris,  sjx-ars. 
splene,  heart. 
thrissil,  thistle. 
udir,  other. 
weid,  garments. 


■  ■:  v-  :• 


IN    PRAISE    OF    HONOUR. 
Bv  GAWAIN    D(  >l  GLAS. 

o  mi.  honour,  sweit  heuinlie  flour  degest, 
i  verteous,  maisl  precious,  gudliest. 
I    i]  hie  renoun  thow  art  guerdoun  conding, 
<  n  worst  hip  kind  the  glorious  end  and  rest, 
Bui  quhome  in  richl  rta  worthie  wichl  may  lest. 
Thy  greit  puissance  may  maist  auance  all  thing, 
Ami  pouerall  to  mekill  auaill  sone  bring. 
I  the  require  sen  thow  but  peir  arl  best. 
Thai  efter  this  in  thy  hie  blis  we  ring. 

( >i     i  n  e  thy  t  u  e  in  euei  ie  pla<  e  sa  si  In  nis, 
Thai  sweil  all  spreil  baith  heid  and  feil  inclynis, 
Thy  gloir  afoir  for  till  imploir  remeid. 
He  dochl  richl  nocht,  quhilk  oul  ol  thochl  the  tynis; 
Thy  name  bul  blame,  and  royal  fame  diuine  is; 


282 


FOUR   MINOR   RORTS. 


Thow  port  at  schort  of  our  comfort  and  reid, 
Till  bring  all  thing  till  glaiding  cfter  deid, 
All  wicht  but  sicht  of  thy  grcit  micht  ay  crynis, 
O  schene  I  mene,  nanc  may  sustene  thy  feid. 

Haill  rois  maist  chois  till  clois  thy  fois  greit  micht, 

Haill  stone  quhilk  schone  vpon  the  throne  of  licht, 

Vertevv,  quhais  trew  sweit  dew  ouirthrew  al  vice, 

Was  ay  ilk  day  gar  say  the  way  of  licht ; 

Amend,  offend,  and  send  our  end  ay  richt. 

Thow  stant,  ordant  as  sanct,  of  grant  maist  wise, 

Till  be  supplie,  and  the  high  gre  of  price. 

Dclite  the  tite  me  quite  of  site  to  dicht, 

For  I  apply  schortlie  to  thy  deuise. 

—  From  "The  Police  of  Honour." 


GLOSSARY. 


afoir,  before. 

auance,  advance. 

ay,  ever,  always. 

but,  without. 

conding,  condign,  worthy. 

crynis,  diminishes. 

deid,  death. 

degest,  grave. 

dicht,  relieve. 

docht,  avails. 

feid,  hatred. 

fois,  time. 

glaiding,  happiness. 

gloir,  glory. 

grant,  giving. 

gre,  degree. 


guerdoun,  reward. 

ilk,  any. 

mekill,  much,  mickle. 

peir,  peer. 

poureall,  the  poor. 

puissance,  power. 

quhilk,  who,  which. 

quhome,  without  whom, 

reid,  advice. 

rois,  king. 

sanct,  saint. 

site,  shame. 

till,  to. 

tite,  quickly. 

tynis,  loses. 

wicht,  person,  wight. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTES.  283 


FOUR    POETS    OF    THIS    CENTURY. 

John*  LYDGATE  was  born  at  the  village  of  Lydgate,  near  New- 
market, about  1370.  He  was  a  Benedictine"  monk  attached  to  the 
monastery  of  bury  St.  Edmunds,  and  is  remembered  as  the  author 
of  three  poems,  which,  in  their  time,  attracted  much  attention. 
These  are  "The  Stone  of  Thebes,''  written  in  ten-syllable  rhyming 
couplets,  and  founded  upon  the  "Teseide"  of  Boccaccio;  the 
'•Trove  book."  finished  about  1420,  and  relating  the  story  of  the 
Trojan  war  as  recounted  by  Guido  di  Colonna  in  his  Latin  prose 
history  of  Troy  :  and  "The  Falls  of  Princes,"  founded  on  a  French 
version  of  Boccaccio's  "De  Casibus  Virorum  Illustrium."  In  14^. 
Lydgate  wrote  a  wearisome  but  somewhat  amusing  poem.  "  bur  le 
Roy."  describing  a  visit  to  London,  and  the  pageants,  processions, 
and  other  rejoicings,  on  the  occasion  of  the  entrance  of  I  lent \  VI. 
into  the  city  after  his  coronation.  The  date  of  the  poet's  death  is 
not  exactly  known,  but  it  was  probably  not  later  than  1440. 

ROBER1  1 1 i.nkvsi  in.  "an  accomplished  man  and  a  good  and 
genuine  poet,"  was  born  about  the  year  1425,  and  died  near  the 
1  lose  of  the  century,  lie  was  for  a  time  a  schoolmaster  and  notary 
public  at  Dunfermline,  in  Scotland,  and  was  connected,  in  some 
capacity,  with  tin-  University  of  Glasgow.  lb-  was  probably,  like 
Lydgate,  a  Benedictine  monk.  I  lis  principal  works  arc  "The 
1  tamenl  ol  I  resseid,"  a  sequel  to  Chaucer's  " Troilus  and  Ck-s- 
sc-idc,"  and  a  collection  of  thirteen  fables,  lb-  wrote  also  many 
shorter  poems,  of  which  the  ballad  ol  "Robin  and  Makyne'1  (pub- 
lished in  P(  iiques)  is  the  best  known. 

William  Dunbar  was  bom  in  Easl  Lothian,  Scotland,  about 
the  yeai  1450.  He  was  educated  at  the  University  ol  St.  Andrews, 
and  in  early  life  travelled  somewhat  extensivelj  a,  a  novitiate  ol 
the  order  of  St.  Francis.  He  visited  England  in  1501,  upon  tin- 
ion  of  the  marriage  of  fames  IV.  of  Scotland  to  the  Prince 
Margaret,  daughter  ol  Henry  VII.    One  ol  In  ns,"The 

Thistle  and  tin-  kn,r,"  was  written  in  1  ommemoration  ol  tliat  even! 
II.-  accompanied  the  queen  to  Aberdeen  in  151 1,  and  foi  some  • 
both  before  and  aft<  in  attendance  and  favoi  al  the  Scotch 

court.     Nothing  is  known  of  his  death,  but  it  ha    been  conjet  lured 


2S4  FOUR   MINOR  POETS. 

that  he  fell  in  the  battle  of  Flodden,  in  15 13.  Resides  the  poem 
just  mentioned,  he  wrote  "The  Golden  Targe,"  "The  Dance  of  the 
1  Vadly  Sins,"  and  many  shorter  poems,  most  of  which  are  allegories. 
The  "Thistle  and  the  Rose"  has  been  pronounced  "the  happiest 
political  allegory  in  our  language.  Heraldry  has  never  been  more 
skilfully  handled,  nor  compliments  more  gracefully  paid,  nor  fidelity 
more  persuasively  preached  to  a  monarch  than  in  this  poem." 

GAWAIN  DOUGLAS  was  a  son  of  the  famous  Earl  of  Angus,  and 
was  born  in  Brechin,  Scotland,  about  1474.  He  was  educated  partly 
at  the  University  of  St.  Andrews,  and  partly  in  Raris.  His  first  con- 
siderable poem,  "The  Ralice  of  Honour,"  was  published  in  1501, 
and  dedicated  to  King  James  IV.  It  is  an  allegory,  such  as  was  at 
that  time  the  staple  of  poetical  composition,  and  contains  but  little 
that  is  particularly  original.  Another  allegory,  printed  after  his 
death,  is  entitled  "King  Hart,"  and  has  for  its  subject  the  heart  of 
man.  His  greatest  work  is  his  translation  of  Virgil's  "^neid"  into 
Scottish  verse.  In  1509,  Douglas  was  appointed  provost  of  St. 
( riles,  Edinburgh,  and  after  the  battle  of  Flodden  he  was  made  abbot 
of  Aberbrothwick.  In  15  15  he  was  consecrated  Bishop  of  Dunkeld, 
but  was  unable  to  gain  possession  of  the  cathedral  except  by  force. 
Becoming  involved  in  the  feud  between  the  rival  families  of  Angus 
and  Hamilton,  lie  was  obliged  to  escape  into  England  in  1521, 
where  towards  the  end  of  the  same  year  he  died. 


S/jje  JFourtrrntl)  cTrnturu. 


•■ /// 1 lie  fourteenth  century  there  comes  an  Englishman  nourished 
on  this  [the  romance]  poetry,  taught  his  trade  by  this  poetry ',  getting 

words,  rhyme,  metre  from  this  poetry  ;  for  even  of  that  stanza  which 
the  Italians  used,  and  which  Chaucer  derived  immediately  from  the 
Italians,  the  basis  and  suggestion  was  probably  given  in  /'ranee.  .  .  . 
■  ask  ourselves  wherein  consists  the  immense  superiority  of 
Chaucer's  poetry  over  the  [earlier]  romance-poetry ',  why  it  is  that  in 
ing  from  this  to  Chain  er  we  suddenly  feel  ourselves  to  he  in 
another  world,  we  shall  fud  that  his  superiority  is  both  in  the  sub- 
tlance  of  his  poetry  and  in  the  style  of  his  poetry.  His  superiority 
in  substance  is  given  by  his  large,  free,  simple,  clear  yet  kindly  view 
of  human  life.   .   .   .      We  hare  only  to  ,  all  to  mind  the  Prologue  to 

•  The  Canterbury  Tales?      The  right  comment  upon  it  is    /hydra's: 

•  It  is  sufficient  to  saw  a, ,  or, lino  to  the  proverb,  that  line  is  God's 
plenty.'  And  again:  'lie  is  a  perpetual  fountain  of  good  sense. 
It  is  by  a  la,  .  sound  representation  of  things,  that  poeti  w  this 

high  criticism  of  life,  has  truth  of  substance,  ami  Chaucer's  poet/  y 
has  truth  of  sub ,tan, ,-.  1/  we  think  of  Chaucer's  divine  liquidness 
of  diction,  his  divine  fluidity  of  movement,  it  is  difficult  to  speak 

temperately.       I  hey  aie  irresistible,  and  justify  all  the  rapture  with 

speak  of  lus  gold '  dew-drops  of  speech?  .  .  . 

(  hau,  er  is  the  father  of   our  splendid  English  poetry,  he  tS  our  ' 

oj  I  nglish  unde/iled,'  because  by  the  lovely  charm  of  his  diction,  the 

lovely  'harm  of  his  movement,  he  makes  an  epmh  and  founds  a  fia- 
dition.  In  Spenser,  Shabesprare,  Milton.  Keats,  we  ,an  follow  the 
tradition  of  the  liquid  diction,  the  fluid  movement         I       tUCit  :  at 

one  time  it  is  lu\  liquid  diction  ,<f  win,  h  in  these  poet  ■    I  the 

virtue,  and  at  another  it  is  his  /hud  movement.    .In,/  the  virtue  is 

n  >  e,isfible."  — MatTHI  '•'•    \i\<  .i  i.. 


^orts  of  tftc  JFourtrcntlj  <£entut]J. 

Geoffrey  Chaucer  (132S-1400).     See  biographical  note,  page  301. 
William  Langland  (1332-         ).      "The  Vision  of  William  concerning 

Tiers  the  Ploughman." 
John  Gower  (1330-1408).     "Confessio  Amantis." 


2S6 


<5ccffre\>  Chaucer. 


-»ot*;o<^ 


FROM  THE  "PROLOGUE  TO  THE  CANTER- 
BURY TALES. " 

Whan  that  Aprillc  with  his  schowres  swoote 

The  drought  of  Marche  had  perced  to  the  roote, 

And  bathed  every  veyne  in  swich  licour, 

(  M  which  vertue  engendred  is  the  Hour; 

Whan  Zephirus  eek  with  his  swete  breethe 

Enspired  hath  in  every  holte  and  heethe 

The  tendre  croppes,  and  the  yonge  sonne 

Hath  in  the  Ram  '  his  halfe  coins  i  ronne,3 

And  smale  fowles  maken  melodie, 

That  slepen  al  the  night  with  open  eye, 

So  priketh  hem  nature  in  here  corages:  — 

Than  longen  folk  to  gon  <>n  pilgi im 

And  palmers  for  to  seeken8  straunge  strondes, 

To  feme  halwes,  kouthe  in  sondry  londes; 

And    \<><  tally,  from  every  s<  hires  ende 

Of  Ei      lond,  to  ( launtei  bury  they  wende, 

The  holy  hlisfnl  martir  '  foi  to  seeke, 

Thai  hem  hath  holpen  whan  thai  they  were  seek 

Byfel  that,  in  thai  sesoun  on  a  d 
In  Southwerk  al  the  Tabard 8  as  I  1 
Redy  to  wenden  <>n  my  pilgrima 
To  1  launterbury  with  tul  devoul  i  01 


2SS  GEOFFREY   CHAUCER. 

At  night  was  come  into  that  hostclryc 

Wei  nyne  and  twenty  in  a  compainye, 

Of  sondry  folk,  by  aventurc  i-falle 

In  felavveschipe,  and  pilgryms  were  thei  alle, 

That  toward  Caunterbury  wolden  ryde ; 

The  chambres  and  the  stables"  weren  wyde, 

And  wel  we  weren  esed  atte  beste. 

And  schortly,  whan  the  sonne  was  to  reste, 

So  hackle  I  spoken  with  hem  everychon, 

That  I  was  of  here  felaweschipe  anon, 

And  made  forward  erly  for  to  ryse, 

To  take  our  wey  ther  as  I  yow  devyse. 

But  natheles,  whil  I  have  tyme  and  space, 

Or8  that  I  forther  in  this  tale  pace, 

Me  thinketh  it  acordaunt  to  resoun, 

To  telle  yow  al  the  condicioun  9 

Of  eche  of  hem,  so  as  it  semede  me, 

And  whiche  they  weren,  and  of  what  degre; 

And  eek  in  what  array  that  they  were  inne  : 

And  at  a  knight  than  wol  I  first  bygynne. 

A  Knight  ther  was,  and  that  a  worthy  man, 
That  from  the  tyme  that  he  first  bigan 
To  ryden  out,  he  lovede  chyvalrye,10 
Trouthe  and  honour,  fredom  and  curteisye. 
Ful  worthy  was  he  in  his  lordes  werre, 
And  therto  hadde  he  riden,  noman  ferre, 
As  wel  in  Cristendom  as  in  hethenesse,11 
And  evere  honoured  for  his  worthinesse. 
At  Alisaundre1-  he  was  whan  it  was  wonne, 
Ful  ofte  tyme  he  hadde  the  bord  bygonne 13 
Aboven  alle  naciouns  in  Pruce.14 
In  Lettowe  hadde  he  reysed  and  in  Ruce, 
No  cristen  man  so  ofte  of  his  degre. 


lti 


PROLOGUE    TO    THE    CANTERBURY    TALES.         289 

In  Gernade  a  atte  siege  hadde  he  be 

(  >t  Algesir,  and  riden  in  Belmarie. 

At  Lieys  was  he,  and  at  Satalie, 

Whan  they  were  wonne ;   and  in  the  Greete  see 

At  many  a  noble  arive  hadde  he  be. 

At  mortal  batailles  hadde  he  ben  fiftene, 

And  foughten  for  our  feith  at  Tramassene 

In  lystes  thries,  and  ay  slayn  his  foo. 

This  ilke  worthy  knight  hadde  ben  also 

Somtyme  with  the  lord  of  Palatye,17 

;eyn  another  hethen  in  Turkye : 
And  evermore  he  hadde  a  sovereyn  prys. 
And  though  that  he  was  worthy,  he  was  wys, 
And  nt   his  port  as  meke  as  is  a  mavde. 
He  nevere  yit  no  vileinye  ne  sayde 
In  al  his  lyf,  unto  no  maner  wight.18 
He  was  a  verrav  perfight  gentil  knighl 
But  for  to  teller)  \  ou  ol  Ids  array, 
Mis  hors  was  good,  but  he  ne  was  noughl  ga) 
( )i  fustyan  he  werede  a  gepoun 
Al  bysmotered  w  ii  h  his  habei  geoun. 
For  In-  was  late  ycome  from  his  viage, 
And  wente  for  to  doon  his  pilgrima 

With  him  ther  was  his  sone,  a  yong  Squyi  i  . 
A  lovyere,  and  a  lusty  bacheler,1 ' 
With  lokkes  crulle  as  they  were  leyd  in  pr< 
<  )i  twenty  yeer  ol  age  he   ■     ,  I  g<  ise. 
I  m  hi     •  iture  he  was  .,t  even  lengthe, 
And  wonderly  delyver,  and  grel  ol   .trengthe. 
And  he  hadde  ben  somtyme  in  chivachye, 
In  Flaundres,  in  Arto)  s,  and  Picard 
And  born  him  wel,  a    ol   io  litel  spai 
In  hope  i"  itonden  in  hi    lad)  gi a< 


290  GEOFFREY  CHAUCER. 

Embrowded  was  he,  as  it  were  a  mede 
Al  tul  of  fresshe  floures,  white  and  reede. 
Syngynge  he  was,  or  floytynge,20  al  the  day  ; 
He  was  as  fressh  as  is  the  moneth  of  May. 
Schort  was  his  goune,  with  sleeves  longe  and  wyde 
Wei  cowde  he  sitte  on  hors,  and  faire  ryde. 
He  cowde  songes  make  and  wel  endite, 
Juste  and  eek  daunce,  and  wel  purtreye  and  write. 
So  hote  he  lovede,  that  by  nightertale 
He  sleep  nomore  than  doth  a  nightyngale. 
Curteys  he  was,  lowly,  and  servysable, 
And  carf  byforn  his  fader  at  the  table. 

A  Yeman  hadde  he,21  and  servaunts  nomoo 
At  that  tyme,  for  him  luste  ryde  soo ; 
And  he  was  clad  in  coote  and  hood  of  grene. 

A  shef  of  pocok  arwes22  brighte  and  kene 

Under  his  belte  he  bar  ful  thriftily. 

Wel  cowde  he  dresse  his  takel  yemanly  ; 

His  arwes  drowpede  nought  with  fetheres  lowe. 

And  in  his  hond  he  bar  a  mighty  bowe. 

A  not-heed  hadde  he  with  broun  visage. 

Of  woode-craft  wel  cowde  he  al  the  usage. 

Upon  his  arm  he  bar  a  gay  bracer23 

And  by  his  side  a  swerd  and  a  bokeler, 

And  on  that  other  side  a  gay  daggere, 

Harneysed  wel,  and  scharp  as  poynt  of  spere ; 

A  Cristofre24  on  his  brest  of  silver  schene. 

An  horn  he  bar,  the  bawdrik  was  of  grene ; 

A  forster  was  he  sothly,  as  I  gesse. 
Ther  was  also  a  Nonne,  a  Pkioresse, 

That  of  hire  smylyng  was  ful  symple  and  coy; 

Hire  grettest  ooth  ne  was  but  by  seynt  Loy  25 ; 

And  sche  was  cleped  madame  Eglentyne. 


PROLOGUE    TO    THE    CANTERBURY    TALES.         291 

Ful  wel  sche  sang  the  servise  divync, 

Entuned  in  hire  nose  ful  semely ; 

And  Frensch  sche  spak  ful  faire  and  fetysly, 

After  the  scole  of  Stratford  atte  Howe, 

For  Frensch  of  Parys  was  to  hire  unknowe. 

At  mete  we]  i-taught  was  sche  withalle  ; 

Sche  leet  no  morsel  from  hire  lippes  falle, 

Ne  wette  hire  fyngres  in  hire  sauce  deepe. 

Wei  cowde  sche  carie  a  morsel,  and  wcl  keepe, 

That  no  drope  ne  fille  upon  hire  breste. 

In  curteisie  was  set  ful  moche  hire  leste. 

Hire  overlippe  wypede  sche  so  clene, 

That  in  hire  cuppe  was  no  ferthing  sene 

Of  grece,  whan  sche  dronken  hadde  hire  draughte. 

Ful  semely  alter  hir  mete  sche  raughte, 

And  sikerly  sche  was  of  gret  disport,26 

And  ful  plesaunt,  and  amyable  of  port, 

And  peynede  hir  to  countrefete  cheere 

Of  court,  and  hen  estatlich  of  manere, 

And  to  ben  holden  digne  of  reverence. 

Hut  for  to  speken  oi  hir  conscience, 

Sche  was  so  charitable  and  so  pitous, 

Sche  wolde  weepe  if  that  sche  saw  a  mous 

ight  in  a  trappe,  il  it  were  deed  "i  bledde. 
( >i  -.in. ih-  houndes  hadde  sche,  that  sche  fedde 
With  rosted  flessh,  or  mylk  and  waste]  breed. 

But  sore  weep  sch.-  it  oon  <>|   In  in  were  deed, 

( )r  il  men27  smot  it  with  a  yerde  smerte: 
And  al  was  i  ons(  ien<  e  and  tendre  herte. 
Ful  semely  hire  wympel  i  pynched  was; 
Hir  nose  tret)    ;  hir  i  reye  as  glas  ; 

I  Hi  mouth  ful  sin.il,  and  therto  softe  and  re<  'I 
But  sikerly  sche  hadde  .1  fail  forheed. 


292  GEOFFREY   CHAUCER. 

It  was  almost  a  sparine'  brood,  I  trowe ; 
For  hardily  sche  was  not  undergrowe. 
Ful  fetys  was  hir  cloke,  as  I  was  war. 
Of  smal  coral  aboutc  hir  arm  sche  bar 
A  peire  of  bodes  gauded  al  with  grene ; 
And  theron  heng  a  broch  of  gold  ful  schene, 
On  which  was  first  i-writc  a  crowned  A, 
And  after,  Amor  vincit  omnia?* 
Another  Nonne  with  hir  hadde  sche, 
That  was  hir  chapeleyne,29  and  Prestes  thre. 
A  Monk  ther  was,  a  fair  for  the  maistrye,30 
An  out-rydere,  that  lovede  venerye ; 
A  manly  man,  to  ben  an  abbot  able. 
Ful  many  a  deynte  hors  hadde  he  in  stable : 
And  whan  he  rood,  men  mighte  his  bridel  heere 
Gynglen  in  a  whistlyng  wynd  as  cleere, 
And  eek  as  lowde  as  doth  the  chapel  belle. 
Ther  as  this  lord  was  kepere  of  the  celle, 
The  reule  of  seynt  Maure  or  of  seint  Beneyt, 
Bycause  that  it  was  old  and  somdel  streyt, 
This  ilke  monk  leet  olde  thinges  pace, 
And  held  after  the  newe  world  the  space. 
He  yaf  nat  of  that  text  a  pulled  hen,31 
That  seith,  that  hunters  been  noon  holy  men  ; 
Ne  that  a  monk,  whan  he  is  reccheles 
Is  likned  to  a  fissch  that  is  waterles32; 
This  is  to  seyn,  a  monk  out  of  his  cloystre. 
But  thilke  text  held  he  not  worth  an  oystre. 
And  I  seide  his  opinioun  was  good. 
What"  schulde  he  studie,  and  make  himselven  wood,34 
Upon  a  book  in  cloystre  alway  to  powre. 
Or  swynke  with  his  handes,  and  laboure, 
As  Austyn  bit  ?     How  schal  the  world  be  served  ? 


PROLOGUE    TO    THE    CANTERBURY   TALES.         293 

Lat  Austyn  have  his  swynk  to  him  reserved. 

Therfor  he  was  a  pricasour  aright ; 

Greyhoundes  he  hadde  as  swifte  as  fowel  in  flight ; 

Of  prikyng  and  of  huntyng  for  the  hare 

Was  al  his  lust,  for  no  cost  wolde  he  spare.35 

I  saugh  his  sieves  purfiled  atte  honde 

With  grys,  and  that  the  fyneste  of  a  londe. 

And  for  to  festne  his  hood  under  his  chynne 

He  hadde  of  gold  y-wrought  a  curious  pynne : 

A  love-knot  in  the  grettere  ende  ther  was. 

I  lis  heed  was  balled,  that  schon  as  eny  glas, 

And  eek  his  face,  as  he  hadde  ben  anoynt. 

lie  was  a  lord  ful  fat  and  in  good  poynt; 

His  eyen  steepe,  and  rollyng  in  his  heede, 

That  stemede  as  a  forneys  of  a  leede  ;:;,; 

His  bootes  souple,  his  hors  in  gret  estat. 

Now  certeinly  he  was  a  fair  prelat ; 

He  was  not  pale  as  a  for-pyned  gOOSt. 

A  fat  swan  lovede  he  best  ot  eny  roost. 

His  palfrey  was  as  broun  as  is  a  berye. 

A  Frere  there  was,  a  wantown  and  a  merye, 
A  lymytour,87  a  In]  solempne  man. 
In  alle  the  ordres  foure88  is  noon  that  can 
So  moi  in-  ot  daliaunce  and  tail-  langage. 

He  hadde  i  mad  fill  many  a  manage 

( )f  yonge  wymmen,  at  his  owen  cost. 

I  Into  Ins  ordre  he  was  a  noble  post.''1 
hid  wel  biloved  and   I  a  nmliiT  was  he 

With  frankeleyns40  ovei  al  in  his  cuntre, 
And  eek  with  worthy  wommen  "l  the  toun  : 
For  hi-  hadde  powei  ol  confi     ii mn, 
As  seyde  himself,  more  than  a  curat, 

For  "I   his  ordre  he  was  lii  mitiat  " 


294  GEOFFREY   CHAUCER. 

Ful  swetely  herdc  he  confessioun, 

And  plesaunt  was  his  absolucioun ; 

He  was  an  esy  man  to  yeve  penaunce 

Ther  as  he  wistii  han42  a  good  pitaunce; 

For  unto  a  poure  ordre  for  to  yive 

Is  signe  that  a  man  is  wel  i-schrive. 

For  if  he  yaf,  he  dorste  make  avaunt, 

He  wiste  that  a  man  was  repentaunt. 

For  many  a  man  so  hard  is  of  his  herte, 

He  may  not  wepe  although  him  sore  smerte. 

Therfore  in  stede  of  wepyng  and  preyeres, 

Men43  moot  yive  silver  to  the  poure  freres. 

His  typet  was  ay  farsed  ful  of  knyfes 

And  pynnes,  for  to  yive  faire  wyfes. 

And  certeynly  he  hadde  a  mery  note  ; 

Wel  couthe  he  synge  and  pleyen  on  a  rote. 

Of  yeddynges  he  bar  utterly  the  prys. 

His  nekke  whit  was  as  the  flour-de-lys. 

Therto  he  strong  was  as  a  champioun. 

He  knew  the  tavernes  wel  in  every  toun, 

And  everych  hostiler  and  tappestere, 

Bet  then  a  lazer,  or  a  beggestere, 

For  unto  such  a  worthy  man  as  he 

Acorded  not,  as  by  his  faculte, 

To  han  with  sike  lazars  aqueyntaunce. 

It  is  not  honest,  it  may  not  avaunce, 

For  to  delen  with  no  such  poraille, 

But  al  with  riche,  and  sellers  of  vitaille.44 

And  overal,  ther  as  profyt  schulde  arise, 

Curteys  he  was,  and  lowly  of  servysc. 

Ther  nas  no  man  nowher  so  vertuous. 

He  was  the  beste  beggere  in  his  hous, 

For  though  a  widewe  hadde  noght  oo  schoo, 


PROLOGUE    TO    THE    CANTERBURY   TALES.         295 

So  plesaunt  was  his  In  principio** 

Yet  wolde  he  have  a  ferthing  or  he  wente. 

His  purchas46  was  wel  better  than  his  rente. 

And  rage  he  couthe  as  it  were  right  a  whelpe, 

In  love-day es  47  conthe  he  mochel  helpe. 

For  ther  he  was  not  lik  a  cloysterer, 

With  a  thredbare  cope  as  is  a  poure  scoler, 

Hut  he  was  lik  a  maister  or  a  pope. 

Of  double  worsted  was  his  semy-cope, 

That  rounded  as  a  belle  out  of  the  presse. 

Somwhat  he  lipsede,  for  his  wantownesse, 

To  make  his  Englissch  swete  upon  his  tunge; 

And  in  his  harpyng,  whan  that  he  hadde  sunge 

His  eyen  twynkled  in  his  heed  aright, 

As  don  the  sterres  in  the  frosty  night. 

This  worthy  lymytour  was  cleped  Huberd. 

A  M  \i:<  HAUNT  was  ther  with  a  forked  herd, 
In  motteleye,  and  hign  on  hois  he  sat, 
I 'pon  his  heed  a  Flaundrisch  bevere  hat; 
His  botes  elapsed  faire  and  letysly. 
His  resons  he  spak  lul  solempnely, 
Sownynge  alway  the  em  res  ol  Ids  wynnynge. 

lie  wolde  the  see  were  kept   for4*  eny  thin 

Betwixe  Middelburgh  and  Orewelle. 

Wel  couthe  he  in  eschaunge  scheeldes  ''•'  selle. 

This  woithi  in. in  lul  wel  his  wit  bisette ; 

Ther  wiste  no  wight  thai  he  was  in  dette, 
So  estatly  was  he  of  governaunt 
With  his  bargayns,  and  with  his  chevysaunce 
For  sothe  he  was  a  worthy  man  withalle, 

Bui  SOth  lo  sayn,  1  not  how   men  him  calle. 

A  '  i  i  rk  ther  was  oi  (  >xenford  "  also, 
Thai  unto  logik  hadde  lou 


2%  GEOFFRE  ) '  CHA  UC  ER. 

As  lene  was  his  hors  as  is  a  rake, 

And  he  was  not  right51  fat,  I  undertake; 

But  lokede  holwe,  and  therto  soberly. 

Ful  thredbar  was  his  overest  courtepy. 

For  he  hadde  geten  him  yit  no  benefice, 

Ne  was  so  worldly  for  to  have  office. 

For  him  was  levere  have  at  his  beddes  heede 

Twenty  bookes,  clad  in  blak  or  reede, 

Of  Aristotle  and  his  philosophye, 

Then  robes  riche,  or  fithel,  or  gay  sawtrye.62 

But  al  be  that  he  was  a  philosophre, 

Yet  hadde  he  but  litel  gold  in  cofre  ; 

But  al  that  he  mighte  of  his  frendes  hente, 

On  bookes  and  on  lernyng  he  it  spente, 

And  busily  gan  for  the  soules  preye 

Of  hem  that  yaf  him  wherwith  to  scoleye  ; 

Of  studie  took  he  most  cure  and  most  heede. 

Not  oo  word  spak  he  more  than  was  neede, 

And  that  was  seid  in  forme  and  reverence 

And  schort  and  quyk,  and  ful  of  high  sentence. 

Sownynge  r,:!  in  moral  vertu  was  his  speche, 

And  gladly  wolde  he  lernc,  and  gladly  teche. 


GLOSSARY. 

ageyn,  against.  bysmotered,  smutted. 

arive,  disembarkment.  carf,  carved. 

aventure,  chance.  cheere,  manner. 

ay,  always.  chevysaunce,  loans,  bargains. 

bar,  bore.  chivachye,  military  expedition. 

bawdrick,  l.al.lric.  elapsed,  clasped. 

ben,  to  bi  cleped,  called. 

bit,  biddeth.  clerk,  a  scholar. 

byfel,  it  happened.  corage,  heart. 


PROLOGUE    TO    THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 


297 


courtepy,  cloak. 
cowde,  knew, 
crulle,  curled, 
cure,  care, 
delyver,  active. 
devyse,  speak  of. 
digne,  worthy, 
don,  do. 
eek,  also. 

embrowded,  embroidered, 
encres,  increase, 
everychon,  every  one,  all. 
farsed,  stuffed. 
feme,  distant,  foreign. 
ferre,  farther, 
ferthing,  small  portion. 
fetysly,  neatly,  well. 
fithel,  riddle. 
Flaundrische,  Flemish. 
flotynge,  fluting,  playing. 
flour-de-lys,  fleur-de-lis. 
for-pyned,  mm  1>  wasti  d. 
forster,  forester. 
frere,  friar. 

gawded,  having  gawds. 
gepoun,  short  i  assoi  1. 

gOOSt,  ghost. 
grys,  fur. 
gynglen,  jingling, 
habergeoun,  hawb 
halwes,  shrines  (holii 
heethe,  heal  h,  meadi  >w. 
hem,  them. 
here,  th<  ir. 
heute,  borrow. 
holpen,  helped. 
holte,  wood. 
i-falle,  fallen 
Like,     me 
i-ronne,  ran. 
juste,  joust. 


kouthe,  known, 
leede,  cauldron. 
leste,  pleasure. 
levere,  rather, 
lipsede,  lisped. 
luste,  pleased, 
maistrye,  mastery, 
maner,  kind. 
mede,  meadow. 
mete,  meals,  eating, 
motteleye,  mixed  colors, 
nightertale,  night-time, 
noon,  not  one,  not  at  all. 
not-heed,  shorn-head. 
pace,  pass. 
peyned,  took  pains. 
pitous,  full  of  pity. 
pOCOk,  peacock. 

poraille,  poor  folks. 
pricasour,  hard  rider. 
priketh,  in.  ites,  spurs. 
prys,  reputation,  worth. 
purfiled,  embroidered. 
purtreye,  paint. 
raughte,  rea(  hed. 
reccheles,  reckless. 
reysed,  ridden. 

rote,  a  music  :d   insli  inn- int. 

sawtreye,  psaltery. 
schene,  bright. 

scoleye,  attend  scl 1. 

seeke,  sii 

semoly,  1 nirij 

sikerly,      el 
somdel,  som<  h  hat 
sondry,  different  finds. 
BOthly,  truly. 
■  ouple,  i'li  Mil 
-^overcyn,  <  ici  i  llent. 
sowniir.'  . 
Icepc,  'I.I 


29S 


GEOFFRE  V  CJ/.l  UCEK. 


streit,  strict. 

swich,  such. 

swynke,  toil. 

thilke,  this. 

tretys,  slender. 

venerye,  hunting. 

viage,  journey. 

wastel  breed,  cake  bread. 

wenderi,  go. 


werre,  war. 

wight,  person. 

wiste,  knew. 

wood,  mad,  foolish. 

wympel,  wimple. 

yaf,  gave. 

yeddynges,  gleemen's  songs. 

yemanly,  yeoman-like. 

yerde,  stick. 


NOTES. 

i.  in  the  Ram.  In  the  constellation  Aries.  "There  is  a  difference, 
in  astronomy,  between  the  sign  Aries  and  the  constellation  Aries.  In  April 
the  sun  is  theoretically  in  the  sign  Taurus,  but  visibly  in  the  constellation 
Aries."  —  Morris. 

2.  i-ronne.  Run.  The  prefix  i-  or  y-  is  equivalent  to  the  A.-S.  or 
German  ge,  and  usually  denotes  the  past  participle. 

3.  seeken.     The  infinitive  in  early  English  ended  in  ;/,  usually  in  en. 

4.  martir.  Thomas  a  Becket,  who  was  slain  at  Canterbury  in  11 70. 
He  was  canonized  by  Pope  Alexander  III.  as  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury. 

5.  seeke.  Sick,  ill.  At  the  present  time  the  English  restrict  the  use 
of  the  word  "  sick  "  to  nausea,  and  regard  it  in  its  original  and  broader 
signification  as  an  "Americanism." 

6.  Tabard.  A  tabard  is  "  a  jaquet  or  slevelesse  coat  worne  in  times 
past  by  noblemen  in  the  warres,  but  now  only  by  heraults.  It  is  the  signe 
of  an  inne  in  Southwarke  by  London,  within  the  which  was  the  lodging  of 
the  Abbot  of  Hyde  by  Winchester.  This  is  the  hostelrie  where  Chaucer 
and  the  other  pilgrims  mett  together  and  accorded  about  the  manner  of 
their  journey  to  Canterbury."  ■ —  Speght. 

7.  stables.  Standing-places  (Lat.  slo,  to  stand);  meaning  here  the 
public  rooms  of  the  inn. 

8.  Or.      Before,  ere  fA.-S.  acr,  ea;).     Compare  Psalm  xc.  2. 

9.  condicioun.     A  word  of  four  syllables,  accented  on  the  last. 

10.  chyvalrye.     The  profession  of  a  knight. 

n.  hethenesse.  Heathen  countries.  From  heath,  the  open  country. 
"The  word  heathen  acquired  its  meaning  from  the  fact  that,  at  the  intro- 
duction of  Christianity  into  Germany,  the  wild  dwellers  on  the  heaths 
longest  resisted  the  truth."  —  Trench. 


PROLOGUE    TO    THE    CANTERBURY    TALES.  299 

12.  Alisaundre.  Alexandria  was  taken  in  1365  by  Pierre  de  Lusignan, 
king  of  Cyprus,  but  was  very  sunn  abandoned. 

13.  he  hadde  the  bord  bygonne.  "  He  had  been  placed  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  the  usual  compliment  to  extraordinary  merit."  —  Tyrwhitt. 

14.  Pruce.  Prussia.  ''When  our  military  men  wanted  employment 
it  was  usual  for  them  to  go  and  serve  in  Pruce,  or  Prussia,  with  the  Knights 
of  the  Teutonic  order,  who  were  in  a  state  of  constant  warfare  with  their 
heathen  neighbours  in  Lettow  (Lithuania)  and  Ruse  (Russia)."  —  Tyrwhitt. 

15.  Gernade.  Grenada,  probably  at  the  siege  of  Algezir,  in  that  coun- 
try, in  1344.  Belmarie  was  probably  a  Moorish  town  in  Africa,  as  also 
was  Tramassene,  mentioned  below.  Lieys  was  in  Armenia.  Both  it  and 
Satalie  (Attalia)  were  conquered  by  Pierre  <le  Lusignan  in  1367. 

16.  Greete  see.  That  part  of  the  Mediterranean  which  washes  the 
coast  of  Palestine. 

17.  lord  of  Palatye.  A  Christian  knight  who  kept  possession  of  his 
lands  by  paying  tribute  to  the  Turks. 

18.  no  maner  wight.  No  sort  of  person.  In  early  English  the 
preposition  was  often  omitted  after  manner.  Observe  the  double  nega- 
tives in  these  two  lines. 

19.  bacheler.  "A  soldier  not  old  or  rich  enough  to  lead  his  relations 
into  battle  with  a  banner.  The  original  sense  of  the  word  is  little,  small, 
young,  from  Welsh  bach."  —  Webster. 

20.  floytynge.     Fluting.    So,  in  Chaucer's  "  House  of  Fame,"  he  says : 

"Ami  many  a  floyte  ami  litlyng  home, 
Ami  pipes  ni.nl'-  ol  grene  1  orne." 

21.  he.  That  is,  the  l-.night.  The  wo^l  yeman,  or  yeoman,  is  an 
abbreviation  of  yeongeman.  As  used  by  <  haucer,  it  means  a  sen. mi  ol  .1 
rank  above  thai  ol  gr but  below  that  of  squire.     The  present  use  ol 

the  word  to  signify  .i  Small  landholder  is  of  more  modern  origin. 

22.  pocok  arwes.     Arrows  tipped  with  peacock  feathers. 

23.  bracer.     A  kind  of  1  lose  Bleeve  la<  ed  upon  the  arm.     "  A  brai  1  1 
th  for  two  •      ive  bis  arme  from  the  strype  ol  th<   iti 

and  his  doublet  from  wearing;   and  the  othei  is,  that  the    tringe  glidingc 

sharplye  and  quicklye  ofl  the  bracer,  maye  make  the  sharpei  t\ te."  — 

ft     'I      ■  "■'    To  xophilu  .  1         1  ■  ' 

24.  Cristofre.     An  image  ol  St.  <  bristopher,  which  was  though!   to 

from  hidden  danger. 

25.  seynt  Loy.     St.  Eloy,  or  Elig 

26.  of  gret  disport.     Fond  of 

27.  men.     This  word  as  here  used  is  "i  indefinite  pronoun  equivah  nl 

t' ■  one,  or  any  ^ne. 


300  GEOFFREY  CHAUCER. 

28.  "  Love  conquers  all  things." 

29.  chapeleyne.     Probably  assistant. 

30.  a  fair  for  the  maistrye.     A  fair  one  for  the  chief  place. 

31.  "lie  would  not  give  a  pulled  hen  for  that  text";  that  is,  "he 
cared  not  a  straw  for  it."     Lulled  —  pylled  —  pilled  =  plucked. 

32.  waterles.     Out  of  water. 

33.  what.     Why,  wherefore. 

34.  wood.     Mad.     Scotch  ioud,  wild. 

"  An'  just  as  wud  as  wud  can  be."  —  Burns. 

35.  no  cost  wolde  he  spare.    For  this  pleasure  he  spared  no  expense. 

36.  "That  shone  like  the  fire  under  a  cauldron." 

37.  lymytour.  One  who  was  licensed  to  beg  within  a  limited  terri- 
tory. 

38.  ordres  foure.  The  Dominicans,  the  Franciscans,  the  Carmelites, 
and  the  Augustine  Friars. 

39.  post.  Pillar,  support.  Compare  with  the  modern  expression,  "A 
pillar  of  the  church." 

40.  frankeleyns.     Country  gentlemen;   wealthy  landholders. 

41.  licentiat.  He  had  license  from  the  pope  to  grant  absolution  in 
all  cases.     A  curate's  powers  did  not  extend  so  far. 

42.  "  Where  he  knew  he  would  have." 

43.  See  note  27,  above. 

44.  sellers  of  vitaille.  (livers  of  food,  or  a  livelihood.  The  original 
meaning  of  the  word  sell  was  to  give.     From  A.-S.  syllan,  to  give. 

45.  "In  the  beginning."  The  first  words  of  St.  John's  Gospel  in  the 
Vulgate. 

46.  purchas.     Income  from  begging. 

47.  love-dayes.  Days  appointed  for  the  amicable  settlement  of  differ- 
ences, without  recourse  to  law. 

48.  "  He  wished  the  sea  were  guarded."  Middelburgh,  a  port  in  the 
Netherlands.     Orewelle,  a  port  in  Essex. 

49.  scheeldes.     French  crowns  marked  with  a  shield.     Shillings. 

50.  Oxenford.  Not  the  "ford  of  the  ox,"  but  the  "  ford  of  the  river." 
Ox,  from  Celtic  csfc,  ouse,  water. 

51.  The  word  right  used,  as  here,  in  the  sense  of  very  is  now  consid- 
ered a  vulgarism.  "A  Southerner  would  say,  'It  rains  right  hard.'"  — 
Haiti,  It. 

52.  sawtrye.     Psaltery,  a  Greek  instrument  of  music. 

53.  sownynge.  Sounding;  that  is,  in  consonance  with.  Sentence  = 
sense.  So,  also,  construe  forme  and  reverence,  above,  as  meaning  pro- 
priety and  modesty. 


BlOURAl'lIICAL   NOTE.  3U1 


ON    READING   CHAUCER. 

'"  How  few  there  are  who  can  read  Chaucer  so  as  to  understand  him 
perfectly,'  says  Dryden,  apologizing  for  'translating'  him.  In  our  day, 
with  the  wider  spread  of  historical  study,  with  the  numerous  helps  to  Old 
English  that  the  care  of  scholars  has  produced  for  us,  with  the  purification 
that  Chaucer's  text  has  undergone,  this  saying  of  Dryden's  ought  not  to  be 
true.  It  ought  to  be  not  only  possible,  but  easy,  for  an  educated  reader  to 
learn  the  few  essentials  of  Chaucerian  grammar,  and  for  an  ear  at  all  trained 
to  poetry  to  tune  itself  to  the  unfamiliar  harmonies.  For  those  who  make 
the  attempt  the  reward  is  certain.  They  will  gain  the  knowledge,  not  only 
of  the  great  poet  and  creative  genius,  but  of  the  master  who  uses  our  lan- 
guage with  a  power,  a  freedom,  a  variety,  a  rhythmic  beauty,  that,  in  live 
centuries,  not  ten  of  his  successors  have  been  found  able  to  rival."  — 
T.  //.    Ward. 

The  peculiarities  of  diction  and  grammar  which  distinguish  Chaucer's 
poetry  seem  to  make  its  reading  and  comprehension  difficult  ami  often 
irage  the  student  at  the  outset.  A  very  little  study,  however,  will 
show  that  tin-  difficulties  in  the  way  are  not  nearly  so  great  as  they  at  firsl 
appear,  and,  after  a  little  patient  practice  in  reading,  they  will  disappear 
entirely.  B)  observing  the  following  rules  you  will  soon  acquire  the  ability 
to  read  with  a  fluency  which  will  he  highly  pleasing  to  you  : 

1.  Pinal  e  should  he   pronounced  as  a  separate  syllable  whenever   the 
demands  it. 

2.  In  all  words  of  Irnn  h  origin,  such  as  visage,  corage,  manicr,  the 
final  syllable  is  a<  i  ent<  d< 

The  greatest  diffii  ulty  in  reading  Chaucei  arises  From  the  antiquated 
manner  in  whii  h  tin-  words  are  spelled;  but  if  the  reader  will  change  an 
occasional  r  to  /,  and  drop  a  final  -  01  .1  final  //,  here  and  thru-,  the  words 
which  teemed  al  in  ^t  bo  strange  will  appear  more  familiar  to  the  eye  and 
the  understanding. 

BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

Geoi  1 11  v  Chai  •  1  h.  "the  morning-star  <>i  English  poetry,11  was 
burn  in  London  in  1  ):H,  according  to  some  authorities,  in  1340. 
lb  ■  1  thi  "ii  "i  a  vintner,  and  al  an  earl)  age  became  acquainted 
with  many  persons  of  distinction.  He  was  a  page  in  tin-  household 
of  Prince  Lionet  and  afterwards  valel  and  squire  to  Edward  III. 
!n  1372  be  was  jenl  abroad  as  a  royal  envoy,  and  on  hi  -  r<  turn  lie 


302  GEOFFREY    CHAUCER. 

was  made  Controller  of  the  Customs  in  London.  In  the  meantime 
lir  had  married  Philippa  Rouet,  one  of  the  queen's  maids  of  honor, 
a  sister  to  the  wife  of  John  of  Gaunt.  Being  thus  closely  related  to 
one  of  the  most  powerful  members  of  the  royal  family,  he  was  often 
employed  in  important  and  honorable  commissions  connected  with 
the  government.  In  1386  he  was  member  of  Parliament  for  Kent, 
and  in  1389  was  appointed  Clerk  of  the  King's  Works,  at  Windsor. 
He  died  in  1400,  and  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey,  —  "the 
first  of  the  long  line  of  poets  whose  ashes  make  that  edifice  illus- 
trious." His  poetical  history  has  been  divided  by  Mr.  Furnivall 
into  four  periods:  (1)  up  to  137-1,  during  which  he  wrote  the 
"A  B  C"  the  "Coropleynte  to  PiteV1  the  "  Boke  of  the  Duchesse," 
and  the  "Compleynte  of  Mars"  ;  (2)  from  1372  to  1381,  which  saw 
the  production  of  "  Troylus  and  Criseyde,"  "Anelida,"  and  the 
"Former  Age";  (3)  from  1381  to  1389,  during  which  his  best 
works  appeared,  the  "  Parlament  of  Foules,11  the  "  House  of  Fame," 
the  "  Legende  of  Goode  Women,"  and  some  of  the  "  Canterbury 
Tales";  (4)  from  1389  to  the  close  of  his  life,  in  which  period  the 
remainder  of  the  "Canterbury  Tales  "  and  some  short  poems  were 
written. 

M.  Taine  says,  "Chaucer  is  like  a  jeweller  with  his  hands  full; 
pearls  and  glass  beads,  sparkling  diamonds  and  common  agates, 
black  jet  and  ruby  mses,  all  that  history  and  imagination  had  been 
able  to  gather  and  fashion  during  three  centuries  in  the  East,  in 
France,  in  Wales,  in  Provence,  in  Italy,  all  that  had  rolled  his  way, 
clashed  together,  broken  or  polished  by  the  stream  of  centuries, 
and  by  the  grand  jumble  of  human  memory,  he  holds  in  his  hand, 
arranges  it,  composes  therefrom  a  long  sparkling  ornament,  with 
twenty  pendants,  a  thousand  facets,  which  by  its  splendor,  variety, 
contrasts,  may  attract  and  satisfy  the  eyes  of  those  most  greedy  for 
amusement  and  novelty.1' 

Other  Poems  to  be  Read  :  The  Knight's  Tale;  The  Clerk's  Tale;  The 
Man  of  Law's  Tale;  The  Legende  of  Goode  Women;  The  Tarlament  of 
Foules;  The  House  of  Fame;   Chaucer's  ABC. 

REFERENCES:  Lowell's  My  Study  Windows;  Marsh's  Origin  and  His- 
tory of  the  English  Language;  Charles  Cowden  Clarke's  The  Riches  of 
Chancer;  Morley's  English  Writers,  vol.  v;  Carpenter's  English  of  the 
XIV  Century ;  Taine's  English  Literature;  Lounsbury's  Studies  in  Chau- 
cer ;  Hazlitt's  English  Poets. 


INDEX    TO    NOTES. 


accloyes,  234. 

afoir,  282. 

aft,  106. 

Aye  of  Gold,  79,  192. 

Ajax,  147. 

Akenside,  Mark,  96. 

amaist,  106.  . 

ancc,  106. 

"  Annus  Mirabilis,"  173. 

antickes,  234. 

Aonian,  208. 

Apollo,  74. 

apparelled,  4O. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  16. 

Arthur's  Scat,  254. 

Arvon,  136. 

Ashtarotb,  194. 

a    ay,  275. 

assuasive,  154. 

awfull,  189. 

axle-tree,  1    - 

ay,  282. 

Aytoun,  William  Edmondstoune,  16. 

Baalim,  194. 

Bact  bu  ,  -■/.  166, 
bairns,  105. 
baldric,  25. 
Ball 

Beattie,  I 
bede,  ^75. 
bedigbt,  233. 
beets,  105. 
belyvr,  106. 
ben,  105. 


bield,  109. 
birkie,  no. 
Blair,  Robert,  96. 
Blake,  William,  96. 
blate,  106. 
blinkin,  106. 
Boadicea,  114. 
boding,  127. 
bi  innet,  105. 

1  I]  ...  IT,  299. 

brae,  254. 
braw,  106. 
bray,  137. 

ne,  William,  158. 

niii:;.  Robert,  16. 
Browning,  Elizabeth  Barrett,  16. 
brutish,  194. 

Bulwei  I  ytton,  Robert,  1''. 
burn-side,  254. 
Burns,  Robert,  1 1 1. 
husk,  254. 
1.1 1  l,in,  1  19, 
Butler,  Samuel,  158. 
Byron,  Lord,  t6. 

ca',  105. 

(  '..ml. 11. 1,  I35. 

(  lamelot,  24. 
( lamilla,  147. 
1  ampbell,  1  noma  .  t6. 

■  annie,  ti 
( larew,  l 

1  arklng,  106. 
imergta,  271. 

■  atai 

303 


304 


INDEX. 


Chapman,  George,  216. 

Chatterton,  Thomas,  96. 

Chaucer,  Geoftrey,  301. 

Chepe,  275. 

Christabel,  64. 

Churchill,  Charles,  96. 

ehyvalyre,  298. 

claes,  106. 

Clarius,  208. 

close,  190. 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh,  16. 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor,  65. 

Collins,  William,  96. 

conceit,  145. 

concern,  119. 

consort,  192. 

convoy,  106. 
coof,  no. 

coot,  27. 

coronal,  47. 

cotter,  104. 

Cowley,  Abraham,  158. 

Cowper,  William,  122. 

Crabbe,  George,  96. 

cracks,  106. 

Crashaw,  Richard,  158. 

craws,  106. 

crew,  168. 

Cristofre,  299. 

crynis,  282. 

Cynthia,  190. 

daedal,  74. 

Daniel,  Samuel,  216. 

Darius,  166. 

darkling,  87. 

Davenant,  Sir  William,  158. 

Davies,  Sir  John,  216. 

deid,  282. 

Delphos,  193. 

demi-gods,  154. 

Denham,  Sir  John,  158. 

denty,  281. 

deposit,  105. 

dicht,  282. 

docht,  282. 


Donne,  John,  216. 

Douglas,  Gawain,  284. 

dragon,  193. 

Drayton,  Michael,  216. 

Drummond,  William,  158. 

dryad,  86. 

Dryden,  John,  175. 

Dunbar,  William,  283. 

dusk,  24. 

Dyer,  John,  96. 

dyght,  275. 

effeires,  281. 
Elysian,  79. 
ene,  281. 

Epipsychidion,  79. 
ere,  189. 
esperanee,  278. 
eydent,  106. 
eyn,  195. 

fallow,  281. 

fassoun,  278. 

Fates,  137. 

Fauns,  73. 

feid,  282. 

fell,  106. 

Fergusson,  Robert,  96. 

in.  i45- 
Flamins,  194. 
Fletcher,  Giles,  158. 
fliehterin,  106. 
floytynge,  299. 
fois,  282. 
fond,  139. 
foreland,  27. 
forgit,  281. 
forgoes,  104. 
frankeleyns,  300. 

Fungoso,  146. 

Furies,  167. 

galaxy,  25. 
garmond,  278. 
gars,  106. 
Garth,  Samuel,  120. 


INDEX. 


JU5 


Gascoigne,  George,  216. 
gauge,  127. 
Gay,  John,  96. 
genius,  193. 
gere,  275. 
GemadG,  299. 

glle,  281. 
glaiding,  282. 
glinted,  109. 
gloir,  282. 
Glosler,  136. 
Glover,  Richard,  96. 
Goldsmith,  Oliver,  128. 
governance,  278. 
gowd,  no. 
Gower,  John,  286. 
grant,  282. 
Gray,  Thomas,  iyj. 
gree,  no,  282. 
1  I  ■  en,  Matthew, 
( Ireene,  Robert,  216, 
-75- 

'y,  137. 

grisly,  [94. 
174. 
guerdouD,  282. 

ha'-bible,  1 
haffi  ■ 

bafflins,  106. 
halcyons,  79. 
Hall,  Joseph,  216, 
bals-ribbane,  278. 

281. 
I  [amnion,  1  ,1. 
harbinger,  188. 
hauberk,  131. 

II'-     Stepht  n.  ;.ift. 
hawkie,  1 
Henryson,  Robert,  : 

I  lerl 

II  I         !.  ol  1  :tfi  t>nr\ 
hi  in.  27. 

Herrii  k 

II  ,80. 


hethenesse,  298. 
hinges,  1 
Hippocrene,  86. 
histie,  ioy. 
Hoi  I,  136. 
278. 
Hood,   Thomas,  16. 
Howard,  Henry,  252. 
hud,  278. 
I  hint,  Leigh,  16. 
lived,  275. 
hymeneal,  71. 

ilk,  282. 
influence,  189. 
ingle,  106. 
Ionian,  79. 
ipocras,  271. 
i-ronne,  . 
1  'I- 
its,  190. 
[xion,  154. 

Japhet,  209. 
Johnson,  Samuel,  96. 
jollity,  i'i. 
Jonson,  I'"  n,  213. 

Keal  -,  John,  . 
kebbw  k,  1 06, 

:        '/i- 

irli    1  16, 
,  278. 
kye,  1 

laif,  a  1. 

Lamb,  (  I. 

I  andor,  Waltei  Sa r>. 

i  Hid,  Willi. mti 

278. 
lathefu',  1 

lawn, 

lemj  .,  jfti. 
1,  278. 
Leth< 


306 


INDEX. 


letted,  173. 

licentiate,  300. 

lichtlie,  254. 

Lodge,  Thomas,  216. 

love-days,  300. 

Lovelace,  Richard,  158. 

Lucifer,  80,  189. 

lufe,  278. 

lukit,  281. 

lyart,  106. 

Lydgate,  John,  283. 

Lydian,  167. 

Lyly,  John,  216. 

lymytour,  300. 

lyst,  275. 

Macaulay,  Thomas  B.,  16. 

Maenalus,  74. 

maiden  (adj.),  188. 

mailyheis,  278. 

mansuetude,  281. 

Marlowe,  Christopher,  216. 

martir,  298. 

Marvel),  Andrew,  158. 

May,  47. 

mede,  275. 

niekill,  282. 

mend,  146. 

"  Meredith,  Owen,"  16. 

Milnes,  Richard  Monckton,  16. 

Milton,  John,  195. 

moil,  106. 

Moore,  Thomas,  16. 

morrow,  281. 

Mortimer,  136. 

mould,  192. 

muddir,  281. 

Mulciber,  234. 

Muses,  153. 

neibor,  105. 
noise,  190. 
numbers,  147. 

Occleve,  Thomas,  268. 
or,  189,  298. 


oracles,  193. 
organs,  168. 
Orpheus,  154. 
Orus,  194. 
Oxenford,  300. 
Osiris,  195. 

pad,  24. 
Palatye,  299. 
Pan,  190. 
pansy,  47. 
pansing,  278. 
paramour,  80,  188. 
partis,  87. 
Parnassus,  146. 
Parnell,  Thomas,  96. 
passing,  126. 
patelet,  278. 
peir,  282. 
Peneus,  73,  243. 
penny-fee,  105. 
Peor,  194. 
pescodes,  275. 
philargyria,  271. 

I'hlegethon,  154. 
pies,  208. 

pine  (v.),  71. 

Plinlimmon,  136. 

plum,  120. 

Pope,  Alexander,  155. 

pourall,  282. 

prevent,  188. 

Procter,  Adelaide,  16. 

Procter,  Bryan  Waller,  16. 

profuse,  71. 

Prothalamion,  241. 

Provencal,  86. 

Pruce,  299. 

puissance,  282. 

quality,  147. 
quhen,  281. 
quhois,  281. 
quhome,  282. 

quhyll,  281. 


INDEX. 


3U7 


Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  216. 
Ramsay,  Allan,  96. 
reedes  (v.),  233. 
reid,  282. 
requiem,  87. 
rewth,  278. 
Rhodope,  155, 

Robin  II 1,  205. 

rois,  281,  282. 
rutty,  242. 
ryshes,  275. 

sacerdotal,  106. 
Sackville,  1  homas,  216. 
Saint  Agnes, 
S.unt  Cei  ilia,  168. 
salvage,  233. 
sanct,  282. 

1 58. 
vii  k,  273. 

sawtrye,  300. 

SI  llO,  278. 

si  hone,  278. 

Si  ott,  Sii  Walter,  t6. 

S'-rk' 

seeken,  298. 

213. 

seill,  278. 
seraphim,  191, 

•78. 
Shakespeare,  William,  221, 
Shelley,  Pen  v  B.,    1 

shend,  ..•)  \. 

ti  me,  William 
281. 
m>  keme    ,  .78. 
Sidney,  Philip,  316. 
Sileni,  73. 
silly,  1  . 
S111101  .,  174. 

Bimonia,  271. 
Si  lyphu  .  1  i 
sit<-,  282. 

■II,  I'.llll, 
skylark,  71. 


Snowdon,  135. 
SO(  ks,  213. 

sort,  146. 

Southey,  Robert,  16. 

sovran,  189. 

sowninge,  300. 

sow  ]"•,  106. 

sparks,  146. 

spede,  275. 

speiris,  281. 

Spenser,  Edmund,  245. 

sphear,  188. 

is,    106. 

ne,  281. 
ad,  193. 
sprite,  71. 

St. ililes,  298. 

stacher,  106. 
.  48. 

St. 11   (    lumber,  271. 
U9. 

store,  24 ), 
stoure,  1 

Styx,  1    |. 

Suckling,  S11   [ohn,  158. 

1.  1. 
Surrey,  Earl  of,  -sj. 

Swi 1  Avon, 

swindges,  193, 
Sj  Ivans,  73. 
Sj  rinx,  7.1. 

'l  abard, 
tabor,  1''. 
Taliei   In,  1  |  :. 
'I  ennj  on,  Alfred, 

tentii 

tepat,  278. 
termi .  1.7. 

•|li. 1      1 
'I  hammuz,  \u  \. 
Iholl,  278. 
'I  hom  ion,  |ai 

tin. 1 1' 

11, 11   .ii,  a  1. 


308 


INDEX. 


till,  282. 

Timotheus,  147,  100. 
"  iin.i  lirra,"  25. 
Titans,  241. 
Tmolus,  73. 
toil,  104. 

d,  24. 
train,  104. 
trump,  192. 
turtle,  188. 
tvnis,  282. 
Typhon,  195. 

udir,  281. 
uncos,  106. 
undersong,  244. 
unexpressive,  191. 

Vaughan,  Henry,  158. 
vermeil,  243. 

wales,  106. 

Waller,  Edmund,  205. 

Warner,  William,  216. 

'37- 
Wai  ti Hi,  I  liomas,  96. 
Watson,  Thomas,  216. 
weet,  109. 


Will,  281. 

weii  is,  281. 

writ,  278. 

weltering,  191. 

which,  245. 

whilome,  234. 

whist,  189. 

wicht,  282. 

wight,  233. 

wilding,  51. 

wiles,  106. 

wisards,  188. 

wit,  145. 

Wither,  George,  158. 

wold,  24. 

wonne,  234. 

wont,  187. 

wood,  300. 

Wordsworth,  William,  52. 

u  rought,  71. 

W'vatt,  Sir  Thomas,  252. 

ychain'd,  192. 
yede,  275. 
yode,  233. 

Young,  Edward,  96. 
youngling,  106. 
'yont,  106. 


Date  Due 

JUN  9  '55 

NOV       1 

.   1962 

OCT 

5   19G2 

f 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

I    II    llll    II  II     llll  I  I    III  III 


ill!  inn  in  in  ii  mi  mi  nun  in  in  ii 

AA    000  602  393    1 


FR1175 


B3 


PR117£                                       B3 

AUTHOR 

Baldwin,   James,   ed. 

TITLE 

•   • 

•  Six  centuries  of  English 

poetry. 

DATE    DUE                                 BORROWER'S    NAME 

Faldwin,   James,   ed. 

...  Six  centuries  of  English 
poetry. 


COLO 


< 


New  Yc 
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